


I Sang In My Chains Like The Sea

by orphan_account



Series: Pacific Rim AU [1]
Category: Pacific Rim (2013), The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, M/M, Pacific Rim Crossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-21 06:32:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Bilbo is a Jaeger pilot candidate, and Middle Earth stands on the brink of destruction.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Bilbo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lincesque](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincesque/gifts), [IronPanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronPanda/gifts).



> Please note that geography, Middle Earth history and certain character's timelines have all been lovingly mucked about with for the purposes of this fic.
> 
> The title is taken from the last line of a Dylan Thomas poem, [Fern Hill](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/175908), which encapsulates Bilbo's childhood perfectly.
> 
>  
> 
> **Art inspired by this fic**
> 
>  
> 
> I have been lucky enough to have six incredibly talented, lovely people produce art for this fanfic. Thank you all so much! I would really recommend following all of them on tumblr, if you're not already!
> 
> (Please be aware that there are SPOILERS for the story in all of the artworks below)
> 
> Rhydwin ([shaerahaek](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com) on tumblr) has drawn [this](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/59613046890/pacific-rim-hobbit-crossover) amazingly rendered Bilbo and [this](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/59696713433/another-pacific-rim-the-hobbit-crossover-pic-for) piece that still makes my heart do cartwheels in my chest every time I look at it. 
> 
> Lina ([dwimmerlaiks](http://dwimmerlaiks.tumblr.com)) made [this](http://dwimmerlaiks.tumblr.com/post/56606938788/jaeger-crew-of-the-dunedain-evenstar-aragorn) wonderful, perfect graphic. See more wonderful graphics, excellent headcanons and hilarity on her blog.
> 
> Annie (bilboo on tumblr) drew [this](http://everyberry.tumblr.com/post/57792251564/so-this-was-thorin-oakenshield-dark) lovely, atmospheric piece. Follow Annie's art blog [here](http://everyberry.tumblr.com) for more adorable art, or her main blog [here](http://bilboo.tumblr.com) for glorious graphics, gifs and edits.
> 
> [Pandamani](http://pandamani.tumblr.com) drew a _perfectly_ realised Dis. I just absolutely love her soft expression, but that's not surprising, because I always love Pandamani's expressions, whoever she's drawing! Take a look at it [here](http://pandamani.tumblr.com/post/57980337307/marshall-dis-gets-a-few-minutes-to-relax).
> 
> The astoundingly talented [dwalinroxxx](http://dwalinroxxx.tumblr.com/) has created a series of five pieces of art, which you can see [here](http://dwaroxxx.tumblr.com/post/65248947225/jaeger-crews-from-this-beautiful-crossover-fic-i). You will not regret following her - absolutely everything she draws is a masterpiece.
> 
> The lovely [amarriageoftrueminds](http://amarriageoftrueminds.tumblr.com/) has created these stunning, striking book covers that you can use if you're reading this on kindle! Take a look at them over [here](http://amarriageoftrueminds.tumblr.com/post/76366463177/i-sang-in-my-chains-like-the-sea-littlebigspoon).

Bilbo was seventeen when his world went to hell in a hand-basket.

The war with the Kaiju was not a new one. It had been raging for many, many years, if it could be called a war at all. The Free Peoples of Middle Earth had been hanging on by their fingernails, but the month leading up to Bilbo’s fifteenth birthday marked a shift in their fortunes. The newly-conceived and newly-forged Jaeger began to stem the tide of destruction, much to the astonishment of all - few had expected their last, desperate bid for survival to work. More Kaiju than Jaegers began to fall. _Wiped off the map_ had once been a phrase all-too often used by reporters and journalists, but the Jaegers brought with them a renewal of hope, storming out onto the battlefield in armour that had barely the time to cool. Some were now daring to suggest - in whispered undertones - that they were _winning_.

And yet, to a young hobbit growing up in a still-sleepy and miraculously untouched Little Hobbiton, it all seemed so very far away. The war was nothing more than a front page to be read by his father and mother at the breakfast table, a game to be played in the school playground, a topic to gossip about over the garden fences of Bagshot Row, and Bilbo had never stopped to consider why even the Shire, with its bounteous lands, had been rationing its food for years. Arda had found its heroes, and Bilbo would play with their toy figurines in the thriving front garden of Bag End. The Jaegers would never fail under the careful guidance of Bilbo’s chubby fingers, because to Bilbo that was simply the way the world worked.

Bilbo was not alone in his absolute certainty of the Jaegers’ victory; Belladonna and Bungo shared his confidence. They both felt safe tucked up in their smial, and neither had ever set eyes on a Kaiju outside of the news, but such a feeling of security had little relation to reality, and in the case of Bilbo’s family, it bred complacency. During a lull in the fighting, they felt safe enough to undertake a journey to the capital of Gondor, to the delight of the insatiably curious Bilbo. No Kaiju had broken through the Jaeger defences of the White Tower stronghold for six months, and restrictions on non-essential travel had been tentatively lifted.

On the third day of their visit, the first-ever class three Kaiju all but decimated two Jaegers and continued, unchecked, into the city of Minas Tirith.

In the aftermath, Bilbo sat huddled up on himself in a camp set up for the injured, the lost and the displaced. His tightly-clenched fist held a white handkerchief. He could still feel the brush of his mother’s hand against his cheek where she had attempted to wipe off a particularly stubborn streak of dirt. Bilbo scrubbed the skin as if to wipe it clean of the ghostly touch, eyes dry and red, chest hollow.

‘Well, Bilbo Baggins,’ said the old man who had come to sit beside Bilbo. He was smoking a pipe, though it was against the strict rules of the camp. On one shoulder was emblazoned the mark of a doctor. ‘What would you like to do now?’

And Bilbo remembered the way the sun had glinted off the shoulder of the Jaeger that had saved his life, the way the golden rays - hazy with dust – had set the surface of its black armour alight with glossy flames. He thought of how the Jaeger had met the fearsome, tectonic blows of the Kaiju with a power all of its own, the reverberations from their fighting resonating in Bilbo’s chest, in the bones of his ribcage, even as he trembled in terror.

He raised his head and said, ‘I want to fight Kaiju.’

 

 

Bilbo would never return to the Shire.

His fervent wish was granted. He came to be a part of the Jaeger programme, whisked away from the ruins of Minas Tirith to the glittering towers of Lothlórien, that most stalwart of strongholds. The old man, whose name was revealed to be Gandalf, proved his value almost immediately when he utilised his apparently endless web of contacts to provide Bilbo with a new home. Bilbo took his place in amongst the spires whose tops seemed to be gilded in gold, rising high above the forest that clustered at the city’s feet, and felt strangely glad that Lothlórien was nothing like the Shire.

Bilbo saw Elves for the first time, and it took many months to overcome his obvious awe of the elegant race. There was an abundance of Humans in Lothlórien, too, working hard alongside their allies, the strain of fighting and building far more apparent on their faces than it was on their Elven counterparts’. The Dwarves, though, were nowhere to be found. Bilbo found this strange and worrying, and more than a little disappointing. He had wanted to meet the makers of the Jaegers - or better still, to watch them at work, bending raw metal into armour and twisting steel wires - each one wider than Bilbo was tall - into tendons. When he inquired as to their absence, he was met with blank-faced stares and patronising non-answers.

Bilbo buried his grief under hours upon hours of training and teaching, under the careful guidance of Gandalf, who was always on hand to provide tea or assistance over a particularly difficult passage. Although, it had to be said, he more frequently confused Bilbo than helped.

Bilbo delved into Jaeger mechanics and Kaiju biology, reading anything and everything that he could get his hands on, his previous love for reading transformed from an everyday pastime to an insatiable thirst for knowledge overnight, and when Bilbo took the entrance exams at twenty-seven, his scores were the second highest of his class.

He was still too young for the Jaeger pilot tests, but he was content for the most part with his role as a data analysist and linguist. There were always reports to be written, information to be disseminated, and transmissions to be translated, and Bilbo quickly became a valued member of his team. He was now all but past his automatic awe of the Elves, and frequently took his breakfast with them, watching the news as he ate, casting a critical eye over the form of whatever Jaeger had been recorded that day. When the Jaeger of Lothlórien were deployed, Bilbo was always, without fail, the first in the command centre, even if he wasn’t on shift. His presence was usually met with a few tuts or fond eye rolls from the Humans and Elves on duty, who had become used to the nuisance that was their resident Hobbit.

Gandalf presented him with an invitation into the Jaeger simulators on his twenty-ninth birthday. He was still too young, but the twinkle in Gandalf’s eye suggested that his age would not be a problem. Giddy with excitement, Bilbo almost failed his first test, his sweaty hands slipping on the controls, but after a long and bloody battle, he managed to take down the incumbent Kaiju.

The elf in charge of Bilbo’s test that day had frowned in obvious irritation when Bilbo had emerged from the simulator. He had demanded that Bilbo retake the test. Bilbo, shaking with adrenaline, was only too happy to agree. Bilbo stepped out a second time to find the elf bent double over his console, muttering to himself and dropping in the odd swearword or two in Sindarin. Bilbo had attempted to catch his attention, but the elf ignored him, and Bilbo had simply left him to it.

Word of Bilbo’s scores quickly spread. Bilbo’s assertion that he would one day be a Jaeger pilot had always been met with gentle teasing from his teammates. No one had honestly expected him capable of it, but hard numbers had proved otherwise. Not a single candidate in amongst Lothlórien’s numbers had ever made a kill on their first drop. Bilbo overnight shifted from a strange little Hobbit who had his uses to a serious contender for a Jaeger partner. He found himself inundated with offers to train and study by other candidates desperate for anything that would improve their chances, and if this had one advantage, then it was the fact that everyone seemed to have forgotten the barefaced breaking of the rules.

Gandalf had merely sat back and laughed at it all, but an exasperated Bilbo had not expected any other reaction from him. As best he could, he began to sift through the piles of offers from ambitious Elves and Humans, removing the ones that he could see, even on paper, would not be a good match, until he was left with eleven possible partners. The need for Jaeger pilots was not desperate, but Lothlórien’s Marshall – more often called the Lady of Light – approved Bilbo’s application to begin compatibility tests all the same. She’d always had a certain fondness for Bilbo, it had to be said.

Bilbo’s renewed hopes of being a pilot did not last long. Every single partner proved incompatible, and Bilbo was left feeling as though he were adrift at sea, sitting on the steps of the training room, wondering what was wrong with him. Gandalf passed him a cup of Earl Grey and promised more candidates, suggesting that Bilbo look again at his pile of rejects, but Bilbo knew the outcome would not be any different.

At night he began to routinely dream of the cockpit of a Jaeger, lit up with cool blue lights. He would fight, recreating battles he had analysed and taken down for reports, going through technique after technique. The pilot suit next to him would be the perfect partner, their every move in sync with Bilbo’s, but the helmet of their visor would always, _always_ be blank.

 

 

Bilbo’s own troubles were swept aside when the unthinkable happened: the legendary and untouchable Jaeger _Seventh Durin_ was destroyed by a class four Kaiju, one of its ace pilots ripped from the console and killed mid-Drift. It was the first time a Jaeger had been defeated in years, and its fall heralded a turn in the tide. Three other Jaegers were destroyed within just as many months, and soon whole cities were following.

Erebor fell. Osgiliath fell. The cities of the Iron Hills were on the verge of collapse, and as a result the supplies for Jeager creation – the plutonium, the metal alloys, the specialist Dwarven engineers - all but vanished overnight.

Jaegers no longer seemed like the solution. A separate alliance between New Greenwood and Gondor sprung up, the two countries pouring their money into the construction of a colossal wall. The workers in Lothlórien muttered that it was only a temporary solution, but despair lead many of them to volunteer for the project.

As the walls rose, the fortunes of Lothlórien and the other strongholds began to fall. Jaeger construction and deployment had been all but wound down by the time Lothlórien was declared no longer useful, and all but disbanded within six months. Bilbo found himself in the ruins of yet another city, with the strangest feeling of déjà vu.

‘My dear Hobbit,’ said Gandalf, ‘do not look so sad! There’s still hope. Here, I’d like you to meet someone. Come with me, if you’re quite finished staring into the distance.’

The someone turned out to be a Dwarf, the first of her kind that Bilbo had met. She was taller than Bilbo, but only by a few inches, with long dark hair swept away from her face, plaited back into a business-like twist. A single braid, shorter than the rest of her hair, framed the right side of her face. Bilbo recalled a passage of a book he had once read: _it is said that Dwarves of either gender will cut a single braid to half its length when in mourning_.

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ Gandalf said, ‘I would like you to meet Marshall Dís.’

‘It’s an honour to meet you,’ said Bilbo politely, and it was – the provision of her name had allowed him to recall what he had read on the Marshall Dís. She had once overseen the mighty Ereborean stronghold to the East, and before that-

‘You are mistaken, Gandalf,’ said Dís, speaking with a smooth, even voice, ‘I have met Mister Baggins before, though not in person.’

‘You have?’ said Bilbo, surprised, ‘forgive me, but I think I’d remember meeting you.’

Dís graced him with the slightest of smiles, ‘oh, but you have. I don’t expect you to remember it, Mister Baggins, for I was piloting a Jaeger at the time.’

It took a few moments for Bilbo to process this. The revelation was like a shot to the heart, and Bilbo could only stare at the Marshall, mouth open, likely looking very foolish until he managed to stutter,

‘Then I owe you my life, Marshall. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for what you did...for what happened in Minas Tirith.’ Bilbo swallowed. His chest felt like it had been hollowed out. ‘I...simply wouldn’t be here,’ he continued quietly, ‘you inspired me, that day.’

‘Thanks are not needed,’ Dís said, her sliver of a smile widening a fraction, ‘I did my duty that day, and I will continue to do it, even if those at the top think that Jaegers are of no further use to the world.’

‘We have a proposition for you, Bilbo,’ cut in Gandalf, ‘an offer of employment, if you like.’

‘Though we have little to offer in terms of salary or benefits,’ said Dís dryly.

‘And what, exactly, is this proposition?’ asked Bilbo, looking to and from Dís and Gandalf.

‘Oh, just a desperate bid to save the world, with little to no chance at success and a huge probability of death,’ Dís said, grinning suddenly and fiercely. ‘How do you like the sound of Ered Luin, Mister Baggins?’


	2. Base Zero

Ered Luin was nothing like Lothlórien. The helicopter swept around and over the city in a looping arch, revealing a glittering landscape so bright it outshone the night sky, the sprawling expanse of it halted only by the mountains in the far distance and the inky black of the sea. There were no trees as far as Bilbo could see – likely all cut down to make room for the city’s expansion – and he wondered how they could stand it. Five million Elves and Dwarves and Humans were living and breathing down below in the neon-lit metropolis, either oblivious or uncaring as to the immediate danger they were in.

Bilbo turned away. The bright city lights were burnt on his retinas like the strangest of constellations, and Bilbo blearily blinked them from his vision. The helicopter left Ered Luin behind, putting the city to its tail. Ahead rose up their base, lit up sparsely here and there by floodlights, a hulking, indistinct shape lurking on the horizon.

Home, Bilbo reminded himself. This is home.

 

 

 

Base Zero, the last Jaeger stronghold in Middle Earth, was all but overflowing with Dwarves. Bilbo couldn’t help but stare as he was led through the base, and more than once he had to run to catch up with his assigned guide because he’d fallen too far behind. Dwarves of all sizes, shapes, colours and of both genders hurried about, their uniforms and bared skin often slicked with sweat and grease, and Bilbo was subject to his own fair share of curious stares himself. He guessed that, once again, he was the only hobbit on staff. 

There was a high percentage of Humans, which Bilbo had expected, but more surprisingly Bilbo spied Elves in amongst them, their pointed ears and tall figures making them easy to pick out amongst the crowds. This was one place, then, that truly reflected the Last Alliance between all of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth.

Bilbo was politely shown to his lodgings by his Dwarven guide – Ori, was it? – and left alone to unpack and rest. Although it had been a long and draining journey to the base, Bilbo’s work was to start immediately; he was to report to the Marshall Dís at six hundred hours sharp the following morning, which would give him only a few hours’ worth of rest. Bilbo didn’t mind, though. He would rather be tired and overworked than be sitting around all day – he had found that he dreamt less the more exhausted he was when he went to bed.

There was so much to think about, but Bilbo was content for the moment to simply lie out on his cot, which creaked under his weight. He huffed a laugh to himself; if there was one thing that all bases shared, it was that their mattresses were apparently made of cardboard. That aside, his room was vastly different from his one in Lothlórien – not only was it considerably smaller, it was made of the same bare, grubby metal that the rest of the base was, with a door that reminded Bilbo of Lothlórien’s underground bunker. He could hear what seemed to be the distant sound of water slapping against the base’s hull, and the underlying thrum of engines working hard into the night. Still, though, Bilbo was sure he could make his room homely enough for his tastes, and the noise was not so different from the creak and groan of Lothlórien’s towers.

Sleep gently swept over him.

 

 

 

There were two pairs of Jaeger pilots already on staff, but Bilbo did not meet either of them on his first day. Instead he was shown around the base by Dís, who explained what his duties were to be, and that there were no ranks here. They were no longer associated with the Last Alliance, though she hinted that they were still receiving funding from ‘surprising’ sources.

‘Now, Bilbo,’ said Dís, ‘as we have the formalities out of the way, would you like to see our Jaegers?’

Bilbo tried to hide his excitement at the question, but he suspected that he had not been successful, if Dís’ wryly raised eyebrow was any indication.

Bilbo coughed and said, ‘yes, I think that would be very...useful. So I know where they are, you know – that sort of thing.’

‘Right this way, then,’ said Dís, and there was an underlying note of amusement in her tone, though nothing showed on her face. ‘I’m sure you’ve already read the reports on their specifications?’ Dís didn’t need see Bilbo’s nod of confirmation as they walked – she already knew the answer. ‘Gandalf told me you were an avid reader. Such a thing will come in handy, I’m sure. Things here work a little differently than you are used to, and we’ll need you up to speed as soon as possible.’

They turned a sharp corner, and suddenly and without warning, the Jaeger hangar bay was before them.

‘We have two working Jaegers,’ said Dís, and Bilbo barely heard her over his wonder, ‘the one over there, on the left, is _Dúnedain Evenstar_ , piloted by two of our longest-serving pilots, Aragorn and Arwen.’

‘Yes, I remember reading about them,’ said Bilbo, attempting to maintain some level of professionalism over his instinctual, child-like joy at seeing the Jaegers, ‘they’re the first inter-species pairing, aren’t they?’

Dís nodded. ‘Yes, no one was as surprised as Arwen’s father when they were found to be compatible. I’m not sure he’s gotten over the shock of it yet. They make a fine team, and no one can dispute that, though many have tried.’ She gestured to the Jaeger on the right. ‘That one over there is-‘

‘ _Alpha Rayade_ ,’ said Bilbo, ‘I’ve seen it many times on the news. I don’t think there’s a soul on Middle Earth who wouldn’t recognise it.’

‘For all the wrong reasons,’ said Dís with a long-suffering air, ‘it’s piloted by my sons, Kíli and Fíli.’

‘They’ve had an outstanding kill rate,’ said Bilbo politely. Dís looked as though she were trying to restrain from rolling her eyes.

‘Yes, they have, but for Mahal’s sake, _don’t tell them that_. They’re bad enough as it is. No doubt you’ll bump into them soon enough. I won’t arrange a meeting between them you and them, Bilbo – goodness knows I’ve no idea where they are most of the time. They’re bound to turn up sooner or later.’

Bilbo hid his smile, turning to peer into the far corner of the hangar. ‘Are those two more Jaeger I see?’ he asked, ‘I don’t remember reading anything about them in the notes.’

‘Oh, yes. They’re both works in progress, at the moment, and we haven’t pilots or names for either of them. Yet,’ she added, casting Bilbo a piercing look, and Bilbo’s stomach clenched uneasily.

‘I’ve read your scores,’ said Dís, ‘they’re off the charts. Why didn’t Marshall Galadriel pair you with someone? Did she think you too young?’

‘No, it...it wasn’t that,’ Bilbo said with a shake of his head, ‘she allowed me to start compatibility tests with five other candidates, but...’

‘No one matched up,’ Dís thankfully completed for him. Bilbo clenched his jaw tightly, hoping Dís would leave it there.

‘Would you like to try again?’ Dís pressed instead, ‘we have a great number of Dwarves here who have decent enough scores. A few Elves, too, who might be compatible.’

‘Is that an order, Marshall?’ Bilbo countered, keeping his voice level and free of his discomfort.

Dís treated him to a frown. ‘No, it is not,’ she said firmly, ‘you will be a valued member of this base whatever you decide. It’s your choice. Think on it – there’s no need to make a decision now. Just bear in mind that one of those Jaeger will be finished within the year, and we have need of a pair.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Bilbo, though he already knew his answer.

Dís continued to appraise him for a few more seconds, sharp dark eyes searching his face for something. Then, thankfully, she relented, her countenance lightening.

‘Our tour completed, I think it’s time you met our resident mad scientists,’ she said.

‘Yes, I’d like that,’ Bilbo said absent-mindedly. The science department had never really interested him aside from when it overlapped with his work, but he would like to meet all of the department heads as a matter of course.

‘I’m sure you will. In fact, I can almost guarantee it,’ said Dís, the edges of her eyes crinkling, sweeping away before Bilbo had a chance to clarify.

 

 

 

The science department was no different from Lothlórien’s. Organised chaos. Lab equipment lay everywhere, frequently full of bubbling concoctions, and on several of the lab tables sat computer screens, across which endless numbers scrolled and multiplied. The only difference was that there was one section of the room that was almost painfully clean and tidy, and instead of numerous teams of scientific bent over their experiments, there were only two occupants.

A Dwarf was sat hunched over an oddly-lit tank full of neon-blue water, containing what appeared to be an oversized organ of some kind. A winged, battered and fluffy-edged cap sat on his head, in juxtaposition to his smart white lab-coat, but Bilbo barely spared a moment to look at him. He was far more interested in the figure at the blackboard, who was stood on a stool in the clean part of the lab, writing out number after symbol after number, muttering to herself all the while, her curly head of hair tucked up into a messy bun at the nape of her neck.

Years had passed since they last met, but Bilbo would know her anywhere.

‘ _Lobelia_?’ Bilbo spluttered.

‘So you _do_ know each other,’ murmured Dís beside him, but she was drowned out by Lobelia’s startled yelp, the hobbit spinning around on her stool and almost losing her balance altogether. She flailed, and Bilbo stepped forwards, ready to catch her, but there was no need – Lobelia righted herself and stared at him through her round-lens glasses, utterly stunned.

‘Bilbo?’ she said hesitantly, ‘goodness me, is that really you?’

‘It is!’ Bilbo said, laughter bubbling up through his chest for the first time in months.

Lobelia stepped down off of her stool, her gaze never leaving Bilbo for a second. There was chalk smeared all across her nose, and her hair had gotten longer and wilder since Bilbo had seen her last, strands escaping her bun to haphazardly frame her face.

‘The very same Bilbo Baggins who pushed me into the river on my fifteenth birthday, in my lovely blue dress that was given to me by my paternal grandmother?’

Bilbo choked on his own laughter, wincing. Lobelia had always known how to hold a grudge. ‘Um...yes?’ he attempted.

Lobelia narrowed her eyes at him, and Bilbo was on the verge of fidgeting when her fierce look shifted into a brilliant grin, and she threw her arms around him.

‘Oh, Bilbo,’ she said, hugging him so hard the air was all but knocked out of him, ‘it’s so very _good_ to see you.’

‘You too,’ Bilbo murmured, hugging her back. To think that he’d be so glad to see Lobelia Bracegirdle. How the world turned.

Lobelia released him with one final squeeze, pushing her glasses up onto the top of her head and schooling her expression into something much sterner.

‘Thank goodness you’re here,’ she said, ‘we’re in dire need of some hobbit sensibility in this Eru-forsaken base. Yourself excluded of course, Marshall,’ Lobelia swiftly added with a respectful nod in Dís’ direction.

‘Of course,’ said Dís, eyes twinkling.

‘ _And_ someone who knows the value of an _orderly_ and _clean_ lab. Not to mention regular baths,’ sniffed Lobelia, giving Bilbo a meaningful look.

‘I think she’s referrin’ to me,’ piped up the Dwarf in the corner, waving cheerily at Bilbo, apparently entirely un-offended by Lobelia’s words, ‘and I’ll have you know I take regular baths,’ he went on, rising from his seat to join Bilbo and Lobelia, ‘just like any other Dwarf.’

‘Oh yes, and aren’t you due for your yearly bath any day now, Bofur?’ said Lobelia waspishly.

Bofur grinned and hooked his thumbs through his trouser loops. ‘Aye, that I am,’ he said, winking at Bilbo.

‘There’s a line bisecting this room for a reason, as you now know,’ said Dís mock- conspiratorially, and Lobelia looked so put out that Bilbo found himself laughing openly and without restraint. It took him entirely by surprise. 

Perhaps he’d made the right decision in coming to Ered Luin after all.

 

 

 

Bilbo did not have to wait long to meet Ered Luin’s youngest and brightest piloting pair. He was walking from comms to the command centre on his second full day, with an arm full of reports, when he found himself all but swept off of his feet and placed on two sets of broad shoulders.

‘Hey-!’ Bilbo squawked indignantly, trying to regain his balance and not lose his grip on the folders all in the same moment.

‘We found him! It’s our hobbit!’ Said one of his captors.

‘Put me _down_ ,’ said Bilbo firmly, whacking him over the head with the heaviest file. Laughing, the pair did so, Bilbo scrambling off and away as soon as he was near the ground. He took one look at them and said, resigned, ‘you must be Kíli and Fíli - Dís’ sons.’

The dark-haired dwarf to the right grinned. ‘That we are. He’s Fíli-‘

‘-he’s Kíli,’ cut in the one with wheat-gold hair, ‘and you must be the hobbit.’

‘Not _the_ hobbit,’ Bilbo corrected, frowning, ‘there’s Lobelia, too-‘

‘She doesn’t count!’ exclaimed Kíli, mock-scowling. ‘She’s not a hobbit, she’s a-‘

‘Demon!’ said Fíli.

‘A wizard.’

‘She keeps stealing our chocolate rations-‘

‘-still can’t figure out how she’s doing it-‘

‘-hence the demon part-‘

‘- unless it’s a skill only Hobbits have?’

‘In which case you should teach us-‘

‘-but it’s okay, because we get her back. We go into her room when she’s not around-‘

‘-and just move things _ever so slightly_ ,’ finished Fíli with a roguish grin.

‘And you’re still _alive_?’ said Bilbo dryly, but then shook his head. ‘Well, it was honour to meet the two of you, but I have to-‘

‘Is it true?’ Fíli interrupted - quite rudely, in Bilbo's opinion.

‘Is what true?’

‘You have the highest simulator scores in Lothlórien?’

‘Oh,’ said Bilbo flatly. ‘That. Yes, it is.’

‘Then why aren’t you undergoing compatibility tests right now?’ asked Kíli, expression so serious that the resemblance between him and his mother was even more striking in that moment.

‘I’m not sure,’ Bilbo said slowly, temper rising, ‘that it’s any of your business.’

‘It is when we don’t have someone to guard our right flank,’ Fíli pointed out. ‘Aragorn and Arwen do well enough-‘

‘When they aren’t too busy making moon eyes at each other,’ Kíli muttered under his breath.

‘-but we need someone to watch our backs. They’re testing a few Dwarves and Humans out – a handful of Elves, too – but none of them have scores that touch yours.’

‘Although Gimli hasn’t taken his test yet, as he keeps reminding us,’ added Kíli.

Bilbo licked his lips and took a few steps backwards. ‘It’s nothing interesting – really. It’s just...a medical condition.’

‘A medical condition?’

‘Yes,’ said Bilbo, fumbling for an excuse, ‘I have...I have worms...in my tubes.’

‘Really,’ Fíli said with raised eyebrows, ‘then why has-‘

But his interrogation was thankfully cut off by the wonderful Tauriel, who appeared at the end of the corridor to cast her severe and disproving gaze in Kíli and Fíli’s direction.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said, ‘I do believe Dwalin was expecting you in hangar six two hours ago.’

Kíli and Fíli gulped simultaneously.

‘We, er, we rescheduled with-with him,’ said Fíli, suddenly looking nervous.

Tauriel smiled, and her smile was like the edge of a blade. As always she cut an intimidating figure, her bright red hair - cropped short - a stark contrast to her plain, dark-grey uniform. 

‘I’ll just check that with him, shall I?’ was all she needed to say and Kíli and Fíli were both falling over themselves to pat Bilbo on the back and take their leave.

‘Good talk, good talk,’ said Fíli.

‘Yes, lovely meeting you Mister Baggins. We’ll see you at dinner,’ Kíli said, and the two of them all but ran off.

Bilbo watched them go, the tension that had been mounting in his chest easing. He let out a breath and turned to Tauriel with a smile.

‘Thank you,’ he said with absolute sincerity. 

Dís’ right-hand woman merely smiled warmly and said, ‘I accept payments in chocolate, Mister Baggins.’

 

 

 

Bilbo’s run-in with Kíli and Fíli only added to his restlessness over the compatibility tests. He had not yet given Dís an answer, and she was being patient with him – for now, at least. He could push the problem aside during work, when he had something to focus on, but during his down time it all but ate at him. He felt utterly torn. Dare he try again and chase out the slightest chance of his dream becoming reality? But if he did and he was unreservedly rejected by all of his potential partners then he would have absolute confirmation that there was something wrong with him.

Bilbo had read every journal, textbook and transcript that he could get a hold of on the subject of Drift technology. Drift compatibility was made up of ninety-five per cent hard science and five per cent ‘unknown’ or ‘outside’ factors, which Bilbo knew to mean, ‘we have no fucking clue’ – but it was phrased as such because the scientists would rather have a dinner date with a Kaiju than admit that they didn’t understand something. Bilbo had always assumed that it was something in that five per cent that made him incompatible. He’d spoken with the Jaeger pilots in Lothlórien, but they’d offered him no further insights into what he might be missing. But now, though, he had new sources of information to tap.

Kíli and Fíli were out of the question. Bilbo did not want a repeat of their first conversation. Instead, he timed his lunch break in the cafeteria one day to coincide with _Dúnedain Evenstar_ ’s pilots coming off of their first shift of the day. Bilbo had not yet had a chance to meet Aragorn or Arwen. He only hoped that the elf and the man would not be so curious about Bilbo in return.

They were easy to spot. They were both still in their jumpsuits, the emblem for their Jaeger – a silver tree with a highly stylised star in its branches - emblazoned across their backs. Arwen was startlingly beautiful, her dark hair cut into a blunt-edged bob and pinned neatly back, revealing the elegant point of her ears. Her beauty was matched by the handsomeness of the young man beside her. Aragorns’ hands – clothed in fingerless gloves – were wrapped around a bowl of steaming soup, apparently intent on his food, but he looked up with warm eyes when Bilbo approached their table.

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ said Arwen, smiling, her voice light and melodious, ‘it is a pleasure to meet you at long last.’

‘My reputation precedes me, it seems,’ said Bilbo, matching her smile with one of his own, albeit much more hesitantly. ‘May I take a seat?’

‘Of course,’ said Aragorn. ‘What can we do for you?’

Bilbo blinked, taken aback - he had not expected Aragorn to get straight to the point. The Humans, Dwarves and Elves of Ered Luin were far more blunt and straightforward than the denizens of Lothlórien had ever been.

‘I’m after some information, if you’re willing to answer a few questions,’ said Bilbo, recovering quickly.

‘Fire away,’ said Arwen, putting aside her half-eaten sandwich.

‘It’s about Drift compatibility,’ Bilbo started, and watched as Aragorn and Arwen shared a look. It was laden with unspoken meaning exchanged in a split second, in a language known only to them. Bilbo stamped down on the hot swell of jealousy that flared up in his chest.

‘This is merely a guess,’ said Arwen carefully, ‘but do you want to know about the infamous five per cent?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Bilbo, ‘how did you know?’

‘There’s been rumours going around about your test scores, Mister Baggins, and your reluctance to try out potential partners,’ said Aragorn, and Bilbo groaned.

‘If this is Kíli and Fíli-‘

‘No, it isn’t,’ laughed Arwen, ‘although they are usually the source of such things.’

‘I swear Jaeger bases are full of the biggest gossips,’ Bilbo huffed.

‘You might be right,’ Aragorn said, smiling, ‘but please, ask your questions. We will answer them, if we can.’

‘But sometimes the Drift is hard to describe,’ added Arwen.

‘Thank you,’ said Bilbo, and paused to give himself time to shuffle his thoughts into order, ‘I suppose what I want to ask is...well...’ he let out a frustrated breath and blurted out, ‘how do you _know_?’

Arwen lowered her eyes, mulling over Bilbo’s question. She and Aragorn did not glance at each other again, but there was something about the way they shifted that spoke of a shared thought, their bodies moving into each other’s space, utterly in-sync.

‘That,’ said Aragorn, ‘is a very difficult question to answer.’

Arwen snapped her eyes back up to Bilbo. ‘Have you ever met someone and known, instantly, that you would be friends?’

Bilbo thought about it. ‘Yes, I suppose I have,’ he said.

‘And do you remember the feeling of...being on the same wave-length, as it were? That when you speak to them they can catch your full meaning with hardly any effort at all?’

‘Yes, I think so.’

‘That’s what it’s like,’ said Aragorn, ‘you meet, and in those few moments... _something_ snaps into place.’

‘Like an elastic band,’ Arwen said, amusement making her lips curl, and she flicked her eyes to the ceiling. Aragorn did glance at her this time, eyebrows raised, and Bilbo had to guess that she was referring to an inside joke.

‘Yes, like an elastic band. For non-familial pairings, many people liken it to love at first sight, but it’s not quite that.’

‘There are many romantic novels that would say otherwise,’ said Arwen, smile edging into a grin.

Bilbo laughed, nodding. There was a large portion of romance novels dedicated to stories about pilots who met, fell in love and became the perfect piloting pair. Bilbo, in the privacy of his own mind, could admit that there was a stash of books hidden away under his mattress from this very genre, though if anyone ever found them, he'd still claim they weren't his.

‘I’m sorry for being so vague, Bilbo,’ Aragorn went on, ‘I can only tell you that you’ll know when you find it.’

‘When you do,’ said Arwen, her lovely features shifting into something more serious, ‘you must fight for it with your whole heart.’

‘It’s worth fighting for,’ agreed Aragorn, gloved hands clenching together for a moment.

Bilbo’s mind flicked over his mental notes on the two, and understood their meaning. Not everyone in Base Zero was there with the full support of their family and friends

‘You’ll find it, Bilbo,’ Arwen said, soft voice fierce, reaching out to squeeze one of Bilbo’s hands, ‘I promise you. You’ll find it.’

‘Arwen is never wrong,’ grinned Aragorn.

Bilbo match Aragorn’s grin with a smile, and in the face of their conviction, for a handful of seconds he honestly believed them.


	3. Thirty-Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lina (dwimmerlaiks) has made [this](http://dwimmerlaiks.tumblr.com/post/56606938788/jaeger-crew-of-the-dunedain-evenstar-aragorn) amazing graphic for Aragorn and Arwen's Jaeger. It's just excellent - go take a look!
> 
> Thank you to the lovely Kelsey (tentativesunriseonthehorizon) for her help on this chapter! <3 <3
> 
> Ha ha ha this was supposed to be only three chapters long. Ha ha...ha.

The matter of compatibility tests and all that they entailed were pushed aside when the Base had its first Kaiju attack of Bilbo’s time there, and at last he had a chance to see their Jaeger in action.

The alert went out when Bilbo was just coming off of his last shift of the day, but he was certainly not going to relinquish his post while a Drop was in progress. The Command centre was buzzing, Bilbo’s colleagues hurrying to and from consoles, Bilbo alongside them, reading over the reams of data that their long-range scans were feeding through, disseminating and extracting the most important information and sending one copy to each of the Jaeger cockpits for the pilots to read, and one to Marshall Dís, who was stood like an island of calm at the head of the Command centre, hands behind her back, eyes tracking the mass of rapidly changing information on the main console screen.

There, beyond the spider-web of glowing feeds and data of the see-through display, Bilbo could see the Jaeger _Alpha Rayade_ , a mass of metal and electronics bound in place, just waiting to burst into life.

Excitement was making Bilbo’s heart thrum, but he did not allow it to disrupt his focus. Kíli and Fíli had already been suited up in the Drivesuit room and were going through pre-Drop checks, Tauriel speaking to them in low tones through her headset.

‘Initiating Neural Handshake,’ said Tauriel, and every single personnel stopped what they were doing to watch the console screen. There was a small pause, then Tauriel nodded to Dís. ‘Neural Bridge established and holding.’

The verbal confirmation was reflected on the screen, which began to display a visual representation of Kíli and Fíli’s Bridge as a thrumming, thick blue line between them and their Jaeger. Bilbo had read that the brothers had one of the strongest Drifts on record and, as a result, one of the best Neural Bridges in Jaeger history, and he now he was seeing it with his own eyes.

‘ _Alpha Rayade_ ,’ said Dís, ‘you are clear for the Drop.’

Bilbo put on a headset of his own just in time to hear Kíli let out a whoop and Fíli say, ‘beastie’s going _down_.’

‘As astute an assertion as that is, Comms are to be used for essential communication purposes only,’ said Dís. ‘As you well know. This... _beastie_... is a class four, and appears to be remarkably similar to the one that came through last week, but - as ever - engage with caution. _Dúnedain Evenstar_ is being held in reserve for now.’

‘Tell them to put their feet up, have a cup of tea,’ said Kíli, and Bilbo just imagine the way he was grinning as he spoke. ‘We’ve got this.’

The line of Dís’ mouth suggested that she would be having words with her sons over proper Comms usage as soon as they were out of their Drive-suits. Bilbo shared an amused look with the elf sat next to him. 

The resulting battle, which was played out in full across the console screen, was short and brutal. _Alpha Rayade_ ’s fighting style was lightning-fast, striking out at the Kaiju so aggressively it had barely any time to respond. But respond it did, one clawed hand breaking through the Jeager’s defences, raking across the top of _Alpha Rayade_ ’s left shoulder, digging in deep between the armour plates. On the console screen, something was showing as having been damaged. After a quick check, Bilbo relayed that their primary Comms system had gone down. It was minor, and had only affected their ability to hear Kíli and Fíli.

‘Thank you. _Alpha Rayade_ , please activate your secondary Comms,’ Dís said.

Static continued to filter through the headsets from _Alpha Rayade_. There was no reason to panic – the feeds were showing that Kíli and Fíli were still fighting - and very successfully, too.

‘They can still hear us, Marshall,’ Bilbo told Dís, ‘it’s just the other way that’s sort-circuited.’

Dís let out a small breath. Coming from her, it was the equivalent of a great, heaving sigh.

‘I repeat. _Alpha Rayade_ , activate your secondary Comms.’

Still nothing. The personnel began to glance at each other. Kíli and Fíli finished their battle by wrenching the Kaiju’s head sharply to the right, and severing its spine with the Jaeger’s extendable blade. The base’s helicopter feed showed that they were no longer alone on the battlefield – several television helicopters were now swarming the scene, their cameras no doubt all converging on _Alpha Rayade_ , eager to catch the shot of the day.

‘ _Alpha Rayade_ return to base. Our scanners are showing no further life-signs. You are _still_ ,’ Dís hissed softly, and Bilbo flinched, ‘required to turn on your secondary Comms.’

Out in the churned-up sea, Kíli and Fíli were too busy saluting at the TV cameras and pulling poses in their colossal Jaeger to pay much attention.

Dís’ tone remained frighteningly calm. ‘Tauriel, please see to it that the pilots of _Alpha Rayade_ run drills every hour on the hour for the next two weeks?’

‘Gladly, Marshall,’ grinned Tauriel, flashing Bilbo a smirk. Bilbo turned back to his own computer, not fighting the urge to smile, and began to work on the briefing notes.

 

 

 

Life in the Base became frighteningly routine. Bilbo all but ignored the problem of his Jaeger pilot candidacy, and Dís seemed to take his silence as an outright refusal. Bilbo couldn’t bring himself to correct her. Besides, with two fully-functioning and effective Jaeger the base was hardly crying out for more pilots – for the moment, at least. Kaiju attacks seemed to be increasing in frequency, and both Jaeger teams saw more than their fair share of battle.

The usual day-to-day business of the base was interrupted by an influx of new personnel from New Greenwood. The rumour mill all but overran with gossip, and Bilbo listened to all of it with a keen ear, happy to get swept up in the excitement. Most of it centred around speculation as to why the Elves had decided to ally with Base Zero, in direct opposition of their King’s assertion that the Wall was the only solution. The whole thing was made even more intriguing because if Lobelia was to be believed, there was an actual Prince in amongst the new Elves - a fact that impressed Lobelia to no end, but then she had always been impressed by royalty. But whatever their motivation, Bilbo was simply glad for the swell in the numbers of armament workers. Jaeger body armaments were a specialisation of New Greenwood Elves, and _Dúnedain Evenstar_ was in need of a few upgrades.

Bilbo had expected his thirty-fourth birthday to come and go without much in the way of fanfare, but he was proved wrong when two packages arrived for him. The first was neatly wrapped, the present inside tastefully decorated, and the contents brought a bitter-sweet smile to Bilbo’s face. A real book, with real paper pages was revealed under the wrappings - a very rare thing indeed. Bilbo traced the gold lettering of the title – _The Beauty of Flowers in Field and Wood: Containing the natural orders of families of Wild Plants_ – and mused that the Lady of Light had always had a funny way of telling people things.

The other present was undoubtedly from Gandalf. The wizard was off to parts unknown, doing work that was a mystery to Bilbo but was surely vital to their cause. The present was wrapped in what looked like a very, very old newspaper; Bilbo had never come across news on _paper_ in all his life, and when he carefully took it apart a battered box full of the finest Earl Grey tea from Gondor lay in his hands.

He had vague plans to spend a quiet evening in the Rec Room, drinking his tea and watching Channel 6’s _Jaeger Talking Points_ just so he could get annoyed at their ridiculous, inaccurate commentary on the latest Kaiju-Jaeger battle and yell at the TV. This was thrown completely off-course without any hope of recovery, however, when Kíli and Fíli spotted the presents in Bilbo’s hands at the Mess table at breakfast. Quite suddenly, Bilbo found himself in the K-Science labs, watching as Bofur rigged up six huge screens to make one big one, and surrounded on all sides by junk food and a handful of his colleagues. He still wasn’t entirely sure how he’d gotten there.

Hobbit tradition dictated that Bilbo give each of his friends presents, but this was all but shouted down as unnecessary by the others. Besides, said Fíli, there was little on hand to gift. Bilbo reluctantly relented, though he still made a mental note to look through his book collection – all made from synthetic paper, of course, unlike his latest addition – and see if there was anything suitable to match up to each of his friends.

They watched terrible, cheesy and increasingly-ridiculous action movies, fought over the popcorn and bickered endlessly. During a lull between films, Kíli attempted to create some kind of caramel concoction with Bofur’s lab equipment, Lobelia standing at a safe distance and tutting disapprovingly. Tauriel and Arwen were quietly giggling together off to one side (and Bilbo suspected that their cups were full of more than just simply hot chocolate), Aragorn was being shown something organic in a tube by an excited Bofur, the human pulling disgusted faces at Bilbo every time Bofur’s back was turned, and Fíli was busy teasing Gimli mercilessly over the latter’s choice in films.

‘It’s a romance!’

‘It is _not_ ,’ grumbled the young dwarf.

‘Is too – the opening shot has Annabella saying that she’ll never meet anyone like her recently deceased husband again, and then it cuts to Sam! How is that not the set-up for a romance?’

‘It’s about two people overcoming their personal struggles for the greater good. The romance is simply incidental,’ argued Gimli, ‘and it has them blowing up an oil tanker!’

‘Whist _holding hands_ ,’ pointed out Fíli, who looked like he was having far too much fun. ‘Just admit it, under all that hair you’re just a big softie at heart.’

Dís arrived a little later, slipping seamlessly into their little group, although Kíli did attempt to hurriedly hide something behind his back upon spotting her. Dís’ raised eyebrow let him know that he had not been successful. Behind her came an elf who was unknown to Bilbo – ‘found him wandering the halls,’ said Dís, ‘do you mind if he joins us?’ – but he quickly introduced himself politely as Legolas. He had bright blonde hair, paler than Fíli’s, which had been cut to a conservative length and combed back from his face. Bilbo had heard that that Legolas was a very promising pilot candidate, and was due to take his first test any day now. He seemed to know Tauriel and Arwen, if their exchange of warm smiles and quick-fire Sindarin was any indication, and Lobelia all but grabbed the back of Bilbo’s collar when she laid eyes on him, leaning over to whisper furiously in Bilbo’s ear.

‘That’s him!’ she said, ‘That’s the Prince! Oh, isn’t he _handsome_?’

‘All elves are. I’m not sure if it’s anything to shout about,’ Bilbo whispered back, trying not to laugh when she almost tipped over into his lap. He righted her gently, and she didn’t seem to notice. Clearly, Tauriel and Arwen had been sharing their hot chocolate.

Dís had brought with her a small bottle of whiskey, which was only half-full, but she measured out a small amount for each of them, emptying the bottle completely and ignoring Bilbo’s protests as she did so.

‘To our newest hobbit,’ she said, raising her glass in toast, ‘happy Birthday, Bilbo.’

The others echoed the sentiment, downing their drinks, and Bilbo - though he was revelling in the warmth and presence of those around him - still made sure to snatch Lobelia’s drink from her hand and down that, too, much to her outrage.

 

 

 

Marshall Dís left the base the next day, leaving Tauriel in command. Her absence was sudden and unannounced, with no explanation given. It wasn’t Bilbo’s place to ask where she had gone, and Tauriel would never say. Fíli and Kíli, though, clearly knew something, for their moods both took a foul turn, and they all but isolated themselves, speaking to Bilbo only as a matter of course for their missions. Gimli and Lobelia gently reassured Bilbo that is was nothing personal – the brothers were ignoring everyone, not just him, but Bilbo was hardly comforted; whatever Dís was up to, if it had sent her sons into such a strop then it surely had to be a dangerous endeavour indeed.

Gimli, meanwhile, finally took his first simulation test. To Kíli and Fíli’s astonishment, Gimli’s scores turned out to be record-breaking, besting Bilbo’s easily. Gimli to his credit did not boast about it, and he hardly needed to – Kíli and Fíli were loud enough about his scores in the Rec Room that the entire base would surely know about them by sundown, the shock of it enough to snap them momentarily out of their sour moods. When the brothers asked Bilbo if he minded being beaten, Bilbo replied that he didn’t mind at all. These weren’t just empty words – he was honestly pleased for Gimli, who had worked so hard to prove that he was pilot material. It did mean, however, that Bilbo began to look at Gimli with a more considering eye. He and Gimli got on well enough, and he hoped he could count the Dwarf as a friend. Perhaps, when the fuss had died down about Gimli’s scores, Bilbo would ask him if he’d like to see if they were compatible. He felt far more comfortable doing it with a friend, and if they turned out to be incompatible, then Bilbo was sure he could trust Gimli not to gossip about it. The Dwarves, meanwhile, were happy enough to pat Gimli on the back every time they saw him, and soon it seemed as though everyone in the base knew Gimli’s name.

But Gimli’s record did not last long. Legolas took the test just the following day, and Kíli and Fíli all but howled in outrage when it turned out that the elf had beaten Gimli by a single point.

‘It doesn’t really matter, in the end,’ Bilbo said, trying to ease their indignation, ‘a kill’s a kill, and they both did well. Besides, their scores are so close that I’m sure if Gimli and Legolas both retake the test, you’ll likely find that Gimli will be the one who comes out on top, next time. In a manner of speaking,’ Bilbo added quickly, because he knew how often Fíli found innuendo even in the most harmless of remarks.

To Bilbo’s relief, Fíli was far too concerned with his own irritation to pay any mind to double-entendres. ‘ _Elves_ ,’ he grumbled under his breath, and Dwalin treated him to a sharp, pointed glare.

‘None of that,’ said Dwalin, ‘you know that’s against the Regs.’

‘ _Mirkwood_ Elves,’ muttered Kíli, and received a cuff around his ear for his troubles.

Kíli’s mutinous mumblings were tuned out by Bilbo. He was too busy watching Legolas and Gimli out of the corner of his eye. The Mess was far too noisy for him to hear what was being said, but he was fascinated all the same. He was guessing from their body language that Gimli was saying a very sportsman-like congratulations to Legolas. The elf looked surprised, Bilbo noted, and responded by saying something that caused Gimli’s face to heat up to match his hair. Gimli shifted on the spot, speaking quickly. Legolas leaned in an imperceptible amount to reply, the edges of his mouth curling up into a smile Bilbo couldn’t read. Gimli’s hands clenched at his sides, and he abruptly turned and left, Legolas watching him go with a puzzled, intrigued look on his face. 

Bilbo’s eyebrows rose. The exchange had been brief and had clearly not ended well, but Bilbo had seen the way that the two had moved and shifted around each other. It had reminded Bilbo of the way that Aragorn and Arwen tended to stand in each other’s space. Bilbo tried not to laugh at the thought of Kíli and Fíli’s reaction upon finding out that Gimli was Drift-compatible with an elf.

 

 

 

A week after Dís first left the base, Tauriel took Bilbo to one side.

‘The Marshall’s returning,’ she told him, and Bilbo saw tiredness bracketing her mouth and the weight of sleepless nights in the darkened skin under her eyes. Bilbo doubted he looked any better.

‘Was she successful?’ Bilbo asked, ‘with...whatever she was doing?’

‘She was,’ Tauriel confirmed. ‘I know we’ve kept you in the dark about this, but it was necessary. If it had been leaked to the press by some loose-tongued mechanic, then she might not have been so successful.’

Tauriel took a breath. ‘Marshal Dís is bringing her brother back to base with her.’

She paused, clearly expecting a reaction from Bilbo. When none came the edges of her mouth turned down ever-so-slightly.

‘That’s...nice?’ said Bilbo, nonplussed. He had no idea why this information was relevant.

‘You are aware, aren’t you, who her brother is?’ asked Tauriel, frowning now.

Bilbo hated to admit he didn’t know something, but in this case he had little choice but to say, ‘no, I’m afraid I’m not.’

Tauriel’s expression bordered on incredulous. ‘I thought there wasn’t a thing about Jaeger pilots that you didn’t know,’ she said.

‘So he’s a Jaeger pilot,’ Bilbo inferred, then scoffed, ‘well I don’t know them _all_ , and I’m more familiar with Elven and Human pilots, not Dwarven ones.’

‘You’ll know this one,’ Tauriel said. She looked torn between laughter and incredulity, both emotions lightening the pale grey wash of her skin. ‘Marshal Dís’ brother is Thorin Oakenshield, former co-pilot of _Seventh Durin_.’

‘Thorin Oakenshield,’ repeated Bilbo, mind racing with this revelation, ‘are you serious?’

Tauriel nodded sharply.

‘It certainly runs in the family,’ Bilbo muttered under his breath. Really, he shouldn’t be so surprised. Kíli, Fíli and Dís were all exceptional pilots – little wonder, then, that they were related to one of the most famous Rangers in Jaeger history.

With a little twinge to his heart Bilbo realised that if Dís and Thorin were related, then Dís had lost a brother, and Kíli and Fíli an Uncle.

‘She’s convinced him to come to the base and try out for the new Jaeger,’ Tauriel said, interrupting that unhappy line of thought, ‘and if we’re very lucky, he’ll find his partner in no time at all, and we’ll have three functioning Jaeger in the base.’

‘If we’re lucky.’

‘Yes, if we’re lucky. But I know better than to trust to luck.’

‘What do you trust in, then?’

Tauriel answered with stone-faced solemnity. ‘Dís’ judgement,’ she said.

 

 

 

Bilbo was to prepare for Thorin’s arrival by sorting out the practicalities of adding a new staff member to the Base’s rota. Thorin would need security clearances, accommodation and a new uniform, to name but a few tasks. Bilbo did all of this as quietly and as carefully as he could, as per Tauriel’s instructions. The entire Base would find out about their newest pilot almost as soon as Thorin took his first step inside, Bilbo was sure, but for now he endeavoured to keep it under wraps.

Bilbo had mentioned during his and Tauriel’s meeting that he would like to test out his compatibility with Gimli. Tauriel had vaguely agreed, leaving Bilbo somewhat dissatisfied with her answer, but he knew that he could do little besides submit the paperwork while Dís was away.

Tauriel had passed Bilbo Thorin’s file almost as an after-thought, so that Bilbo could see to it that any problems with allergies or medications were seen to. But Thorin turned out to be frighteningly healthy, and Bilbo only glanced over the rest of his medical records – he didn’t want to pry, though as he scanned through the form his eyes inadvertently read ‘ _...burns to left arm and left side of chest, likely to scar_ ,’ and, ‘ _...severe emotional trauma almost certain-_ ,’ before he quickly turned the page.

There was no photo attached to the file, but Bilbo was beginning to build a picture of the Dwarf as he read. He tried not to read anything too personal, skipping over the sections on Thorin’s family history and ignoring the psychiatric report. Instead he lingered over Thorin’s test scores – all in the high nineties, all marks that Gimli couldn’t hope to dream of, though Thorin had been criticised by his tutor for leaving his defences wide open in exchange for a killing blow. 

At the back of the file Bilbo was surprised to find Thorin’s personal essay on why he wanted to be a Jaeger pilot. Such a thing must have seemed necessary, all those years ago when Thorin had first become a Ranger, when there had been time to properly test potential pilots.

 _‘ I agree with Doctor Oin’s assertions that the Kaiju are nothing more than killing machines, with no other purpose aside from the destruction of life in any form,_ ’ Thorin had written, ‘ _Kaiju cannot be bargained with, and know no other language save the language of violence. I will admit that the Kaiju frighten me, as they would any sane Dwarf, but I would rather be fighting on the front lines, leading the charge, than have to stand by, helpless and powerless. Erebor is my home. It is more than a city to me, for it is inseparable from the concept of family in my mind. It is therefore my greatest treasure. My only wish is to defend it.’_

Bilbo rubbed at his tired eyes, heart constricting with sadness, and closed the file.

 

 

 

It was, as Bilbo’s mother would say, raining cats and dogs. _Better get out the extra-strength umbrellas_ , Bilbo’s father would always reply. 

The memory made Bilbo smile as he popped open his black umbrella and stepped out into the deluge, breathing in the rain-fresh air. A helicopter was coming into land, and Bilbo stopped on the edge of the helipad, bracing himself against the back-draft of the whirling blades. The door opened, and Dís stepped out, unmistakable in her big black coat. She was closely followed by another dwarf who was slightly taller than her, and so had to stoop a little to duck under the slowing blades. A few steps of his combat boots later and the Dwarf was able to straighten his full height. Bilbo’s gut tightened.

So this was Thorin Oakenshield. Dark, shoulder-length hair, shot through with grey, a closely-cropped beard and a bomber jacket with a thick fur collar. A cloth bag was slung over one shoulder, and he turned from Dís for a moment to meet Bilbo’s curious gaze. Bilbo did not look away.

‘So this is the hobbit,’ said Thorin over the sound of the helicopter’s engines winding down, eyes raking over Bilbo. It did not take long. Bilbo was not very tall.

‘This is Bilbo Baggins,’ corrected Dís as Bilbo fell into step beside them, ‘one of our best and brightest.’

‘Really,’ said Thorin offhandedly, looking away from Bilbo, and Bilbo felt as though a weight had been lifted off of him.

‘It’s a pleasure to meet you,’ said Bilbo, stepping into the lift behind Thorin and closing the umbrella. He rearranged the umbrella and files in his arms so that he could extend one hand in offering to Thorin. The dwarf took it, pressing one warm, rough palm with cold fingertips to Bilbo’s, and Bilbo saw that Thorin’s eyes were a deep blue, not brown like Dís’ were. He had a firm grip.

‘I thought hobbits don’t wear shoes?’ said Thorin by way of reply. Now they were out of the rain and in the quiet of the lift, Bilbo could properly hear Thorin’s remarkably deep voice.

‘They’re standard issue,’ Bilbo said with a small shrug.

‘And is the rest of you standard-issue?’

‘Maybe. Is that a standard-issue haircut?’ Bilbo shot back, and had to refrain from covering his mouth with his hand. He hadn’t meant to say that. Thorin must think him so rude.

Thorin glanced at his sister, whose only response was to quirk one corner of her mouth.

‘I didn’t realise there were hobbits to hand to check pilots' appearances upon arrival,’ drawled Thorin, turning back to Bilbo, ‘I would have combed my hair. The rules have changed quite a bit since my day, it seems.’

Bilbo couldn’t read his tone or expression at all, and there was an edge of defensiveness in Thorin’s stance. He had no idea if the dwarf was teasing or not.

‘You will find a great deal has changed since you last stepped foot in a Jaeger stronghold, brother,’ said Dís, ‘haircuts included. Bilbo has been assigned to you to help you over the next few days.’

‘So hobbits _do_ now come as standard,’ Thorin said to her under his breath, but Bilbo’s sharp ears caught it all the same.

Bilbo was still trying to figure out if he should take offence to this when the lift doors opened, revealing a bright-eyed Lobelia.

‘Oh!’ she said, ‘welcome back, Marshall, I didn’t expect to see you here!’

You utter liar, thought Bilbo fondly, and privately he was agog with astonishment. How Lobelia had managed not only to find out that Dís had arrived with someone in tow, but also which lift they were using and what floor they would arrive at was a mystery to Bilbo. His suspicions as to why Lobelia had engineered their ‘accidental’ meeting were immediately confirmed when Lobelia extended a hand to Thorin as their small party exited the lift.

‘Hullo,’ she said with polite curiosity, ‘I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Lobelia Bracegirdle. I work in the K-Science Labs.’

Dís let out a small sigh as Thorin shook hands with Lobelia, introducing himself.

‘You seem to be overrun with hobbits,’ Thorin said to Dís, and it was a wry observation, not a judgement on Dís’ staff. How Bilbo had inferred this he wasn’t entirely sure.

‘We have only two,’ said Dís, ‘and you’ve now met them both. Bilbo, I’m sure you do not need reminding, but I will need to speak to you and Tauriel later in the briefing room. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to make sure Lobelia makes it safely back to her lab?’

‘Of course Marshall,’ said Bilbo with a nod, trying to keep a straight face. Lobelia let out a little huff of indignation beside him.

‘And I’m sure my brother will need help being reminded what’s standard issue and what’s not,’ Dís continued, ‘you may need to write him a list. Possibly with diagrams.’

Thorin scowled at her. To Bilbo, he said, ‘I’m not how sure you’ve coped with my sister as Marshall. You must be mad by now.’

‘It’s a requirement of the job,’ said Bilbo.

Thorin let out a breath through his nose and shook his head. ‘It was interesting meeting you both,’ he said, hefting his bag of belongings back onto his shoulder and walking away with Dís.

Bilbo watched him go. Inadvertently, his eyes dropped from the broad line of Thorin’s shoulders to somewhere rather...lower down.

He looked away hurriedly, aghast at his own behaviour, only to find that Lobelia had been doing the same, eyes fixed approvingly on one particular part of Thorin’s anatomy.

‘Bilbo!’ she exclaimed, bordering on gleeful, ‘Bilbo _Baggins_ , I didn’t think I’d live to see the day!’

‘Shh, for goodness sakes!’ Bilbo said, flapping at her ineffectually. ‘And I don’t see why you’re acting all...all... _you_ when you were staring, too!’

‘Yes, but _I’m_ not the one embarrassed by it,’ crowed Lobelia, ‘goodness, Bilbo, I didn’t know your tastes ran so...well, _wild_.’

‘Shut up.’

‘How very adventurous of you.’

It was no use. He was going to have to retreat. Lobelia could wander the halls for all he cared. He turned to walk away, ears and cheeks aflame, but Lobelia wasn’t done with him yet.

‘I’ll just get Ori to put him in a room near yours, shall I?’ she shouted after him.

‘I hate you!’ Bilbo yelled back at her over his shoulder, and Lobelia’s pealing laughter followed him all the way down the corridor.

 

 

 


	4. Compatibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Annie (bilboo on tumblr) has drawn Thorin's arrival! Go take a look, it's just spot on, including the little 'base 00' on the umbrella. [Click here to see!](http://everyberry.tumblr.com/post/57792251564/so-this-was-thorin-oakenshield-dark)

Thorin Oakenshield was not the only asset the Marshall had brought back to Base with her. As Bilbo was to learn, they now had all of the necessary components for a bomb, and - with Lobelia’s research – there was enough evidence to suggest that it might actually work.

‘The department heads have already been briefed, thanks to Tauriel,’ said Dís with a nod in Tauriel’s direction, ‘and they will now relay the message to their staff.’

‘A bomb,’ Bilbo said faintly, staring at the luminous blue diagram on the table in front of him. It was spinning gently, replaying over and over again the necessary steps of the plan. He watched as the tiny, crimson-red bomb fell into the so-called ‘throat’ between worlds and detonated, sending a wave of orange light thundering through the wormhole, which then disintegrated into the air like dust motes. He tore his eyes away and said, dry-mouthed, ‘is this a suicide mission?’

‘No,’ said Dís immediately, ‘Fíli and Kíli will carry the bomb into the breach and deploy their escape pods. There should be enough time for them to break free of the rift before it detonates.’

Should. Such a word did not belong in Marshall Dís’ vocabulary. The image of Kíli and Fíli in their fragile pods, trying to escape the blast, like ants trying to outrun the tide of the sea, flashed across Bilbo’s mind. He glanced across the conference table at Tauriel, to find that she, too, was staring at the 3D diagram, her face ghostly pale in the blue light it was throwing off.

Dís sensed their obvious uncertainty. ‘Walls cannot help us,’ she gently reminded them, but with a thread of pure mithril underpinning her tone, ‘we cannot hide and hope that this stops and that the Kaiju show mercy. For too long we have relied on defensive tactics. It’s time to take the fight to them. Any questions?’

Neither Tauriel nor Bilbo responded. After a few moments worth of silence, Dís leant forwards and tapped the table top. The diagram faded away.

‘Good. Now, to our next order of business,’ she said, voice forcibly bright. She threw a stack of piles on the table with a half-grin, ‘finding my dear brother a suitable partner. This plan cannot work without at least three functioning Jaegers, and I would prefer it if our newest Jaeger is piloted by at least one Ranger with battle experience. Trials are tomorrow, at seven hundred hours, and we’ll keep going until we find someone Drift compatible.’

It was quite an impressive stack of files. ‘I didn’t realise we had so many candidates,’ Bilbo said.

‘We have a fair few whose scores are a shadow of Thorin’s, and a couple who are outstanding. On paper, Gimli seems to be the perfect match for Thorin. We’ll have to see if that equates to compatibility in the training room. It helps that they’re related, although distantly.’

‘And Prince Legolas?’ asked Tauriel.

‘Is a bit of a curve ball, I grant you that,’ Dís agreed, ‘but you never know. The Kaiju might be so surprised that they decide to give up their plans for world-wide destruction.’

‘That’s if you can get him in the ring with Legolas in the first place,’ Tauriel said.

‘I’ll see to that,’ promised Dís, ‘you and Bilbo worry about the rest. Bilbo, I’d like you to oversee the test with Tauriel. I want to hear your take on things. There’ll be the usual observers, but you have a good eye for flaws in people’s fighting styles, and I think it’d be useful for tomorrow. Look over the other candidates, if you think it’ll help, though I’m sure you will whatever I say.’

Bilbo eyed the pile. He would not be getting much sleep tonight. ‘Thank you, Marshall.’

‘Any more questions? No? Good. I will see you both tomorrow, but I’d like a word with you, Bilbo, before you go.’

‘Until tomorrow,’ said Tauriel, dipping her head and closing the door firmly behind her.

Bilbo tried not to fidget as Dís turned her flinty gaze in his direction. It was, Bilbo realised, nearly identical to the look Thorin had treated him to in the elevator, though Thorin’s had been tempered with a defensiveness Bilbo had not been able to understand.

‘There’s one more candidate I’d like to add to the pile for tomorrow,’ said Dís, and threw another folder atop the rest. Bilbo’s quick eyes fell on the thick, blocky writing at the file’s corner. _BILBO BAGGINS_ , it read, and then, under that, _LADC RANGER CANDIDATE – UPPER TIER_.

‘I know you’ve been hesitant. I know you were found incompatible before, at Lothlórien. But,’ Dís leant forwards, elbows on the table, staring at Bilbo, who refused to meet her look, ‘I am asking you now to _try_ , just one more time.’

‘Marshall, I...’ began Bilbo, though he had no idea what to say.

‘Whatever’s holding you back, I need you to move past it. With our plan now in place, the need for a good pair has become a necessity.’ The Marshall pressed her fingertips to her lips briefly. It was the first gesture Bilbo had seen from her that spoke of nerves. She waved a hand in the direction of the files. ‘I know on paper that Gimli seems the sure option, but if there’s one thing that I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that the more unlikely pairings are sometimes the strongest. That damn five percent, I suppose.’

Dís’ gaze became a little distant. ‘Mahal knows I...,’ she started, but then shook her head, ‘well, never mind that now. The point is - every instinct I have is screaming at me that you two could be a good match.’

‘But I’m just a rookie,’ Bilbo said, having finally found his voice, ‘I can’t possibly pair up with your _brother_.’

‘I think you can. Besides, Thorin has more than enough experience for the both of you.’

Bilbo shook his head, chewing on the inside of his cheek. ‘Maybe Hobbits just aren’t meant to be Rangers,’ he said quietly.

‘Well that’s the biggest load of dragon dung I’ve ever heard,’ Dís snorted. ‘You and Lobelia are proof of the resilience and the resourcefulness of your race. I could spend the next two hours telling you about all of the ways the Hobbits have helped with the war effort. You don’t even know the half of it, Bilbo.’

‘I just can’t, Marshall,’ Bilbo said, wishing he had something to hold in his hands to stop him from wringing them under the table.

There was a short pause, and Bilbo wondered if he’d actually achieved the impossible and made Marshall Dís angry.

‘Look at me,’ she commanded, but she simply sounded a little frustrated. Reluctantly, Bilbo looked up at her once more. 

‘What I am about to say is said with a great deal of respect and the utmost sense of kindness,’ said Dís, ‘but do you think that the reason why you are so hesitant to try again is not that you fear you will be incompatible, but that there is a possibility you _will_ find your partner?’

‘Perhaps you are afraid of failure, afraid that you might not be capable of fighting once you get into that suit, into the cockpit,’ Dís continued, ignoring Bilbo’s indignant expression, now speaking with an urgency that was breaking through her usual calm demeanour, ‘better instead to hide behind files and reports and books and never find out at all. And believe me, I get that. Piloting a Jaeger _should_ be a terrifying thought. To be given all that power is no small thing. You’ve done an outstanding job for one of your age, Bilbo, no one can ever dispute that. But I’m sitting here telling you that you can go one _better_.’

She rose from her seat and did not wait for a rebuttal from Bilbo. ‘Take a chance,’ she said as her parting shot, ‘I expect to see you in your training gear tomorrow. Don’t bother with your boots.’

 

 

 

Bilbo did, in fact, bother with his boots. He’d now worn them for so long that his feet felt unprotected without them. As it turned out, he was glad he had deigned to wear them – the training room was packed, nearly overflowing with staff all eager to watch the proceedings, and Bilbo’s feet were stepped on quite a few times. He barely felt it through his thick combat boots.

The square ring that would be used by Thorin and his potential partners had been left religiously untouched by the gathered crowds. No matter how cramped the conditions, not a single member of staff encroached on the black markings on the ground that marked the arena. There were almost certainly many duties that were being neglected in favour of watching the matches, and Dís had likely let it pass for the sake of morale.

Bilbo took his place next to Dís at the head of the room. Tauriel stood on the other side and handed Bilbo a spare clipboard. There were three other officials – two Elves and a Dwarf - standing to Bilbo’s left. One elf Bilbo knew to be the base’s psychologist, the other was probably their Drift engineer, and lastly there was Dwalin, their resident trainer. Dwalin caught Bilbo’s eye and sent him a wink, grinning merrily. Bilbo had no idea what he was so happy about.

Along one of the walls, two rows of benches had been set up, and on them were sat those who Bilbo presumed were Thorin’s partners – he spotted Gimli among their ranks, looking faintly nauseous under his rich red beard, and Legolas, who looked for all the world as if this was no more than a particularly rowdy dinner in the Mess.

There were some familiar faces in the crowd, too. Lobelia and Bofur were standing off to one side, and Bofur waved at him merrily. Lobelia shot Bofur a grumpy look, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug, but she sent Bilbo a bleary smile all the same. Kíli and Fíli were also present, which Bilbo had expected, but they were scowling for reasons unknown to him, leaning on the training room wall as if they didn’t want to be there. Strange, but Bilbo put it to one side. There were other things to think about, namely the figure striding through the crowds, coming to stand in the middle of the arena. A hush fell over the training room.

Bilbo’s eyes inadvertently fluttered over Thorin’s exposed, broad shoulders, over the well-defined muscles of his upper arms and the strong lines of his forearms. Thorin’s hair was tied back into a low tail, and his white tank top was giving Bilbo rather too much to look at. For propriety’s sake he tore his eyes away – although rather reluctantly, it had to be said – and instead stared furiously down at his clipboard. He subsequently missed the grin Lobelia sent in his direction.

‘Thorin Oakenshield, reporting for duty,’ said Thorin, and Bilbo dared to look over the top of his clipboard. Thorin’s tone was nothing but respectful, but Bilbo caught the amused quirk of an eyebrow Thorin sent in Dís direction, a fleeting hint of teasing that lasted for half a moment, and Bilbo knew that Thorin was gently mocking the fact that he was under his little sister’s thumb.

‘Glad you could join us,’ drawled Dís, ‘shall we begin?’

‘If you’ll allow a moment for me to arm myself,’ Thorin said, and caught the wooden sword that Dwalin threw in his direction, looking it over for a moment before giving a few experimental, smooth swings. Bilbo wrote the date out on his paper. It was perhaps the neatest set of numbers he had ever written.

‘Who’s to be my first victim?’ he said, looking to the assembled staff, a glimmer of humour warming his words, and Dís took the file Tauriel handed her, calling out the first name.

The resulting series of matches was a lesson in many ways for Bilbo. For the first few bouts he almost forgot to take notes, so absorbed was he by seeing Thorin’s fighting style in practise. Thorin was truly a master swordsman, matching the swiftness of his attacks with a ferocity that his opponents simply could not keep up with. His quick stabs and sharp swings were grounded in his agile, fast footwork, the dwarf using a circular style of swordsmanship that was hard to block and that allowed him to easily move past any defensive manoeuvres that attempted to forestall him.

Tauriel called out the result of each match tonelessly – _‘four-two, four-one, four-one’_ – in contrast to the excited murmurings that broke out among the spectators after each challenger bowed and left the ring. Bilbo saw money changing hands more than once. He even saw Lobelia begrudgingly handing over a few coins to a laughing Bofur. The sheaves of paper on Bilbo’s clipboard were now littered with notes; as impressive as Thorin’s style of fighting was, there were still flaws and areas of improvement that Bilbo had picked up on. He hoped he would have the time to talk to Thorin about his analysis.

After the first six matches were finished, Thorin was given a short break to take some water and wipe the sweat from his brow. Bilbo was not an expert on Drift compatibility, but he was guessing that none of the pairings so far had been suitable. Thorin had beaten them all easily, and although winning was not the point of the exercise, it was clear that Thorin had been holding back on almost all of his partners, allowing them the chance to settle their nerves and show off their skills. Such a thing was understandable, but having to hold back because of your partner’s skill level did not equate to compatibility.

There was still hope, though – when Tauriel handed Dís the next file, Dís said with a smile, ‘Gimli, step forward please.’

The young dwarf did just that, stepping into the ring and bowing respectfully to Thorin, who bowed low in turn, his expression finally softening from the fierce and focused look he had worn all morning. Gimli gave Thorin a run for his money as no other before him had, but there was a hesitance to his movements that spoke of deference and respect. Jaeger co-pilots needed to see each other as equals, and it was clear that Gimli thought of Thorin not as a partner, but as his leader.

When Tauriel called out the score as ‘four-three’, Thorin slapped Gimli on the back, speaking to him in low tones. There was affection to be found in the curl of Thorin’s lips, and there was a tug low in Bilbo’s stomach at the sight.

‘Well done,’ Bilbo mouthed to Gimli, as the Dwarf stepped aside.

‘Last but not least,’ said Dís, ‘we have Legolas Greenleaf, unless you’d like to take a break, Thorin?’

A sheen of sweat was now covering Thorin’s arms, but he shot Dís a glare.

‘Very well,’ said Dís, hiding a smile, ‘Legolas, if you’d be so kind?’

Thorin did not seem happy with his new opponent, but he nevertheless bowed to Legolas when the elf entered the ring. Legolas’ skills matched up to his excellent scores in the simulator - his fluid motions were a wonder to behold, and yet, despite Thorin’s obvious tiredness, they were still evenly matched.

‘Four-three,’ Tauriel said, but she shook her head as she did so. Bilbo had to agree with the unvoiced sentiment – separately, Thorin and Legolas were outstanding, but together they simply didn’t add up. There was no awareness of each other’s movements, no natural inclination to anticipate each other’s attacks outside of that drawn from experience. They were not compatible. It had been worth a try, and at the very least it had amused their audience.

Thorin was outright panting when Legolas stepped out of the ring.

‘Are we finished for today, Marshall?’ he asked, leaning a little on his sword.

‘Not quite, actually,’ Dís replied, and Bilbo’s breath caught. ‘There is one more candidate, if you’re not too tired.’

Thorin flicked his hand out as if to say, ‘well?’

‘Bilbo Baggins,’ Dís declared, and she turned to Bilbo, extending him her hand so that he might hand over his clipboard.

Thorin snorted and did not look in Bilbo’s direction. ‘The hobbit?’ he said, ‘don’t be silly, Dís. I would not want to break him,’ and he began to turn away.

Bilbo stared at his notes. Line upon line of even, ordered hand-writing stared back at him, evidence of another day’s worth of good work, and all of a sudden it wasn’t enough. Thorin’s jibe caused his heart rate to kick up a gear, sparking anger deep in his gut. Everyone always underestimated him. Why had he expected Thorin to be any different?

Something bright and golden was waking up inside of him, stirring into life just below his sternum. A sudden desire to fight, to test his skills against a worthy opponent flooded him from head to toe, a bright blaze of energy flew over the surface of skin, thudding through his veins, bringing with it a startling clarity that swept away all of Bilbo’s doubts and fears.

He handed Dís the clipboard. She grinned at him, bright and glad.

‘What’s the matter, Thorin,’ Bilbo said to the dwarf’s back, ‘afraid you can’t cut it against a hobbit?’

The staff, right on cue, let out a low, pantomime _ooooh_ , at this. Thorin stopped, and turned, and for the first time since the tests had begun, he looked Bilbo in the eye.

‘I am not afraid, little hobbit,’ he said evenly, ‘I was simply not aware that you were a candidate.’

‘Bilbo has a habit of surprising people,’ cut in Dís. ‘So what’s it to be, Thorin? If you walk away now, you’ll forfeit the match.’

She said this airily enough, but Thorin clearly took offence to being so obviously goaded. But still he hefted his sword to his shoulder all the same and said, ‘you’ll need to lose the boots.’

Bilbo tuned out the resulting clamour. Bets were likely being bandied about at breakneck speed, but Bilbo’s focus was solely on his opponent. He quickly unlaced his boots and put them to one side at the very edge of the ring. Dwalin handed him a spare sword, and he tested its weight as he strode forwards. Thorin passed him at the halfway mark.

‘Don’t hold back because of my size,’ he said to Thorin, ‘or you might find yourself flat on your back all too soon.’

He knew exactly how his words could be taken. Instead of blushing at the innuendo as he normally would, he instead accompanied it with a bold grin as he settled into place at the far end of the ring. Thorin’s only response was a small, surprised bark of laughter, caught off guard enough that his stoic expression slipped.

Bilbo tightened his grip on the sword’s hilt, sliding his feet into a familiar stance. He had, if truth be told, initially struggled with his combat training in Lothlórien, until the kindly elf who had run the sessions took him aside to give him a small piece of advice: _you are small and quick – try to outmanoeuvre your opponent,_ he had said, _and your mind is a greater asset still. Think of it like a game of chess_.

His blood was all but singing in anticipation of the coming fight. Let him underestimate me, he thought. Thorin readied his own sword, his dark eyes locked with Bilbo’s, and every limb spoke of a coiled, restrained intent held by a hair trigger.

Tauriel raised one hand, then let it drop. ‘Begin!’ she said, and Thorin launched into motion, rushing Bilbo, who did not move at all. Thorin’s blade stopped an inch short of Bilbo’s neck.

‘One-zero.’

A flicker of a frown passed over Thorin’s brow. ‘You’ll have to do better than that, halfl-‘

Bilbo’s counter was so fast that Thorin almost didn’t have time to block the hobbit’s second strike, dancing backwards as Bilbo pressed forwards, and he was not quick enough to block Bilbo’s stab, the tip of the hobbit’s sword resting just above Thorin’s heart. Bilbo had evened the score in the space of a second.

‘One-one.’

‘You were saying?’ Bilbo said, and he had no idea where his courage had come from, but he was going to grab it with both hands and hold onto it with every fibre of his being, because this was _thrilling_. He felt more alive than he had done in years.

Bilbo could’ve sworn he saw a flash of a smile from Thorin, but he had no time to marvel over it – Thorin’s riposte was to attack Bilbo with a flurry of sharp stabs, and it was clear that Thorin was no longer holding back. Bilbo blocked, matching Thorin’s speed, refusing to give any ground, instead darting to one side, looking for any opening in Thorin’s guard.

Thorin swept around in the circle that was so characteristic of his style, his sword sweeping back and around with every intention of hitting Bilbo on the shoulder. Bilbo didn’t even bother to block it – instead, he dodged it, giving a little twirl of his own so that he could knock Thorin’s sword as it swept past. The added momentum to Thorin’s swing broke his rhythm for only a split second, but that was all that Bilbo needed. He hooked one foot behind Thorin’s leg, bringing the dwarf down to one knee, knocked aside Thorin’s defensive block with a twist of his sword, and pressed his blade to Thorin’s neck.

‘One- _two_.’

Thorin looked up at him from his kneeled position, gaze half-lidded and heated. He did not wait for Tauriel to finish calling out the score. He burst upwards, getting back onto his feet and forcing Bilbo to move back at the same time, but Bilbo’s quick feet meant that he was not in retreat for long, even with the strong blows Thorin was raining down on him.

Instinct was now dictating Bilbo’s moves, and when Thorin left his right side open for just one moment, Bilbo pressed home his advantage. But his eagerness to win another point made him step too far into Thorin’s guard, and Thorin responded instantly, grabbing Bilbo’s sword arm and flipping him up and over the dwarf’s shoulder in a world-tilting throw. Bilbo landed hard on his back on the floor.

‘Two-two.’

‘ _Now_ who’s on their back?’

Bilbo went for his leg with a fierce cry, throwing his whole weight into the manoeuvre, overbalancing Thorin and pushing him to the floor with the dwarf’s leg in a lock.

‘Two-three.’

Bilbo was panting. So was Thorin. He was definitely smiling now - Bilbo could see it, in spite of the precarious position Bilbo was holding him in. Quick as lighting, Thorin twisted his whole body sideways, throwing Bilbo off, taking up his sword once more to press it to the back of Bilbo’s neck.

‘Three-three.’

Dís’ voice rang out. ‘Enough,’ she said, ‘I have seen enough.’

Thorin released Bilbo. He scrambled to his feet, Thorin doing the same beside him. Dís was smiling.

‘You don’t need to finish your match,’ she said, ‘you two are Drift compatible. Thorin, Bilbo is your new partner.’

There were a cheers, and groans, too, from those who had lost money. Bilbo had eyes and ears only for Thorin. He was sure he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. His adrenaline and happiness were almost uncontainable, and he was nearly lightheaded with elation.

Bilbo saw, for a handful of moments, fear darken Thorin’s face. Then his eyes shuttered, and his face became blank and stony.

‘No,’ he said over the commotion that Dís’ declaration had caused, ‘no, he is _not_ my partner.’

And he strode away, leaving Bilbo alone in the ring.

 

 

 

To say that Bilbo was furious was an understatement. Livid was more likely the term he would have used to describe his current state of mind, had he not been so consumed by his anger. Not even Lobelia’s outstretched hand, ready to help, to soothe, or Kíli and Fíli’s anger on his behalf had dampened down Bilbo’s fury. He stormed through the halls of the Base, and any who saw him took one look at his expression and hastened to get out of his way.

Ori had put Thorin in the room directly opposite Bilbo’s. There would be time, later, to shout at Lobelia for the placement, for what little good it would do. It was here that Bilbo finally caught up to Thorin.

‘Hey!’ Bilbo barked at dwarf, putting a hand to his shoulder. It was like trying to move a mountain, but thankfully Thorin relented, turning meet Bilbo’s ire with those impenetrable defences still in place. Bilbo wanted to shake him.

‘Would you mind please explaining what, in the name of all that is good and green, you think you’re playing at?’

‘I don’t think it concerns you,’ said Thorin.

‘I think it _does_ ,’ Bilbo ground out, ‘when you leave me, your potential partner, in the middle of the ring without a word of explanation as to why you’ve rejected me?’

‘Leave it alone, Halfling.’

The fires of Bilbo’s fury were stoked ever-higher.

‘No, I will not. Because you felt it, too, I know you did! We’re Drift compatible. For Eru’s sake, everyone in the _room_ knew it.’

Thorin said nothing, and Bilbo could glean not a single clue as to what the dwarf was thinking from his perfectly composed expression.

Bilbo was tempted to trip him again, but instead he said, ‘come with me,’ and turned to walk away without bothering to check if Thorin was following.

 

 

 

Bilbo led them both through a route that was very familiar to him. Thorin followed on behind him; Bilbo did not glance over his shoulder even once to confirm this, for the heavy tread of Thorin’s boots told him he was not alone. They must have looked very odd – Bilbo stomping ahead, Thorin keeping up with his long strides just a few paces behind. If anyone wondered why there was a Jaeger pilot following Bilbo around like a very reluctant sheep, then no one dared stop them to ask. They were given a wide berth on their way to their destination.

There was, as Bilbo had discovered during his first week in the Base, a small, unused balcony jutting out into space on one of the floors. From here the viewer was gifted with the awe-inspiring sight of a Jaeger being brought to life by team upon team of hard-working engineers, who welded and programmed and tested at all hours of the day and night. Bilbo stepped out onto the balcony, uncaring that there were no handrails to speak of, and pointed up at the colossal and nearly-complete Jaeger.

‘If you’re not going to give _me_ an explanation,’ Bilbo snapped at Thorin, ‘then explain to her why you’re refusing to give her the pilots she deserves.’

Thorin took two steps out onto the balcony. Bilbo watched as his eyes tracked up and up and up, taking in the expanse of the dark blue armour, and Bilbo saw the same awe and wonder on Thorin’s face that he felt every single time he stepped into the Jaeger hangar.

For a long minute, neither of them said anything. Gold flares sprung up here and there over the Jaeger’s body from various welding crews, illuminating the strong, clean lines of the Jaeger’s design.

‘What’s she called?’ asked Thorin.

‘I don’t know. Dís is going to give her a name soon.’ Bilbo’s ire died down a little. ‘She’s an amalgamation of three Jaegers,’ he told Thorin, not begrudging him the information in the face of his obvious enthusiasm, ‘mostly Mark IIIs, but her speed comes from some of the early prototypes for the Mark V. I’m still not sure how Dís got her hands on the components.’

‘She always has worked in mysterious ways,’ said Thorin, still taking in the Jaeger.

‘Why, Thorin?’ asked Bilbo quietly, ‘help me understand.’

Thorin’s shoulders hunched. ‘It’s complicated,’ he said.

In an amazing display of self-restraint, Bilbo did not throw him off of the balcony. Instead, he let out a little noise of frustration and said, ‘well, _un_ complicate it, then.’

Thorin finally tore his eyes away from the unnamed Jaeger. He merely looked at Bilbo for a long moment as if weighing up his words, before heaving a huge sigh and sitting down on the balcony’s edge. Bilbo joined him, heart lifting. Perhaps he was finally getting somewhere.

‘You’ve read my file, I presume,’ said Thorin.

‘I have.’

‘Then you know I...I lost my brother while we were still connected.’

‘I know,’ said Bilbo softly. He did not offer up the usual sentiments. He knew they were meaningless for Thorin.

‘An experience like that...it destroys your sense of equilibrium. It leaves a permanent mark on your mind, like a wound that will never fully heal. And that’s not the only wound I bear.’

‘I understand, Thorin, but I knew all of this before I stepped into the ring. I don’t understand why it’s a problem now.’

‘It’s a problem because we’re compatible,’ said Thorin, and exhaustion was beginning to creep into his voice. ‘ _Very_ compatible.’

Understanding dawned. ‘Oh,’ said Bilbo, ‘you’re afraid that there might be a backlash.’

‘Yes. Bilbo, the deeper the Drift, the more likely it is that you’ll be affected by whatever emotional trauma that’s been...locked away, so to speak.’

Bilbo mulled this over for a moment. He huffed a laugh and poked Thorin in the shoulder, looking at him side-long. ‘You’re underestimating me again,’ he said, ‘and that didn’t go well for you in the ring, did it?’

Thorin raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m sorry, you’re making it sound as though you _won_. We drew, remember?’

‘We didn’t get to finish our match. I’ll allow that there was a small chance of you winning,’ he said with mock-arrogance.

‘How very kind of you,’ said Thorin dryly, but Bilbo caught a ghost of a smile before he turned his face away.

‘ _I_ certainly think so,’ Bilbo said. He sobered, and continued, ‘in all seriousness, though, I know this is rushed. I know pairs usually have more time to get to know each other.’

‘We seem to be running out of that, these days.’

‘I know. And that’s exactly why we have to at least _try_. And if it seems like it’s all going horribly wrong,’ Bilbo added brightly, ‘then Tauriel can always pull the plug.’

Thorin let out a little snort. ‘Simple as that.’

‘Exactly. Besides,’ sniffed Bilbo, ‘I think you’ll find that a hobbit’s mind is a very orderly place. _Neat_ , even. I’m sure I can bring calm to whatever chaos you are anticipating.’

This time Thorin grinned at him outright. ‘For someone facing a high probability of neural overload very soon, you seem strangely upbeat about the whole thing.’

Bilbo clasped his hands together in his lap. ‘People have always underestimated me, with just two notable exceptions. I am not used to relying on my instincts, but my gut is telling me that I can do this.’

Thorin was silent.

‘I’m not sure...’ Bilbo began hesitantly, and trailed off. Thorin glanced at him expectantly. Bilbo bit his lip – Thorin had been honest with him. It was the least that Bilbo could do to return the gesture.

‘I was a candidate, years ago,’ he said, ‘I...was found to be incompatible with...well, with everyone in Lothlórien. I thought I’d never find a partner. I was certain of it, in fact, until the moment that I faced off against you in the training room.’

He heaved a breath and said with conviction, ‘I’d at least like to try, Thorin. Someone told me recently that it’s worth fighting for, and that’s what I intend to do.’

‘Hopefully not literally. I don’t think I’m ready for another round _quite_ yet,’ Thorin said, tilting his head slightly to one side, the gesture coupled with his words lightening the mood.

Bilbo smiled, ‘aha!’ he said gleefully, inwardly relieved that Thorin had not considered his previous incompatibility cause for concern. ‘You’re afraid to face me again! Then you admit that I would have won.’

‘I admit no such thing,’ scoffed Thorin, ‘merely that I am weary after the _dozen_ or more matches I have completed today alone.’

Bilbo shook his head, chuckling. ‘Excuses, excuses,’ he clucked.

A comfortable silence fell over them. The burning desire to have confirmation that Thorin would accept him as his co-pilot was simmering away in his chest, but Bilbo could be patient. He would not hurry Thorin for his answer, not when the dwarf was making no move to run away again.

‘Do you find it strange, wearing shoes?’ said Thorin suddenly after a few minutes of silence had elapsed.

It was a non-sequitur, but Bilbo allowed it. He looked down at his feet to see, with belated surprise, that he had forgotten to put his boots back on. He wiggled his toes. ‘Not anymore,’ he said.

‘I thought Hobbit feet were tougher than leather.’

‘Oh, they are,’ Bilbo agreed, ‘but they were designed for walking down woodland paths, over stones and gravel. Things that would cut human feet are hardly felt on ours. But in a Jaeger stronghold-‘

‘There are worse dangers here than flinty rocks,’ Thorin completed.

Bilbo nodded. ‘It’s a necessity. I hated it at first, but I’ve grown fond of stomping all over the place in my big boots. Not very stealthy, I grant you, but good for stepping on people’s toes.’

‘Sneaky hobbit tactics,’ said Thorin.

‘I think you’ll find that all of my moves were perfectly legal, thank you.’

To his delight, he had managed to coax another half-smile out of Thorin. Bilbo shook his head, and allowed himself a moment of self-reflection.

‘I’ll take them off when this is all finished,’ he said, ‘when the Kaiju are all dust and the breach is closed, I’ll throw off my boots and sink my toes into the nearest patch of long, thick, _green_ grass.’

‘You’ll have to travel out of Ered Luin to find grass,’ Thorin pointed out, but when Bilbo shot him a look he amended seriously, ‘not that such things matter. It’s a good dream, Bilbo.’

‘What’s yours?’

Thorin shrugged. ‘A long, cold pint of beer and a hug from each of my foolish nephews.’

‘And Dís, too, I should think?’

‘That’ll happen regardless of whether I want it or not,’ huffed Thorin.

Bilbo smiled softly. ‘It’s a good dream.’

There was a creak and a groan from the Jaeger. Bilbo had almost forgotten it was there. They looked away from each other and up in time to see the right section of the Jaeger’s armour being pulled slowly back to reveal a deep, blood-red glow.

‘I’ll try,’ said Thorin, so quietly that Bilbo almost missed it altogether, but his sharp ears picked up on it all the same. Bilbo didn’t need to clarify what Thorin was referring to. His heart was soaring, and he grinned, bright and unrestrained, staring up at what was now _his_ Jaeger.

Elastic band, Arwen had said. Bilbo could feel it snapping into place.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear, they _will_ Drift next chapter. It's already half written, so it shouldn't take more than a couple of days to write.
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely responses to this story! I was so excited about this crossover, I'm very happy to see that I wasn't the only one who could see it working <3


	5. Drift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I'm sorry for the lateness! I was a bit under the weather this week, but I'm back up to speed now.
> 
> It's time for the Drift. I hope you all enjoy it!

‘You should eat something,’ said Lobelia.

‘I’m not hungry,’ Bilbo said for the third time that morning. Lobelia was nothing if not persistent. Bilbo saw her scowl and open her mouth to try again. He scrambled for a topic to distract her from her campaign to get him to eat something, in spite of his insistence that his stomach was so bunched up with nerves it was unlikely to be able to hold anything at all.

‘Where’s your shadow, this morning?’

Lobelia’s scowl darkened, and Bilbo knew he had been successful. Mentioning Bofur had always been a sure-fire way of redirecting her attention.

‘He’s not my shadow,’ she said, ‘if anything he’d be more like...like a bad _smell_ that lingers, or-‘

‘He’s not _that_ bad, surely?’ Bilbo protested, chuckling a little.

‘You haven’t had to share a lab with him, Bilbo. His experiments are _ridiculous_! I am certain he makes them extra smelly, extra _repulsive_ , just to spite me.’

‘I’m sure it’s not to spite you,’ Bilbo said, feeling like he had to stick up for the cheery scientist who had been nothing but welcoming to him when he’d first arrived at the base.

Lobelia let out a little hissed sigh through her teeth, ‘sometimes I wonder. Scientific debate is one thing, but he seems to delight in arguing with me, and his ideas are just...just _preposterous_! Well,’ she said, holding her head high, ‘I’ve finally managed to get one up on him, after all these months.’

‘You have?’

‘Yes, I have. Marshall Dís chose _my_ research – based on scientific reasoning and cold, hard data, I’ll have you know – over his. He was sprouting some nonsense – something about the Kaiju all being clones and that they were being _controlled_. Related to Orcs, even. All conjecture. I stopped listening after the first ten seconds of rambling. So did the Marshall.’

If there was one thing that Lobelia could be counted on for, it was a nice, long rant about Bofur. Bilbo let her carry on, making sure to nod in the appropriate places. He was more than happy to hear about every single instance that Bofur had annoyed Lobelia if it meant that his mind was kept firmly off of the fact that he would soon be piloting a Jaeger. He laced his hands around his mug, breathing in the scent of the ordinary breakfast tea steeping away. He hadn’t actually taken a single sip, but he had always found the smell alone soothing.

‘If you’re going to throw up, better do it now,’ said a voice, ‘throwing up in your helmet is not a pleasant experience.’

Thorin sat himself down on Bilbo’s other side, placing his tray full of food down on the table. To Bilbo’s left, Lobelia instantly quietened, cutting herself off midway through a sentence about Bofur’s dirty socks.

‘You sound like you’re speaking from experience,’ said Bilbo. His nerves had returned in a wave, making his stomach roll and buck.

‘Not me,’ said Thorin, ‘Dís.’

‘You’re joking,’ Lobelia said with wide eyes, ‘I don’t believe you. The Marshall?’

‘I don’t think she’ll thank you for telling us that,’ chuckled Bilbo.

‘It’s my privilege as her older brother. But really, Bilbo – you should at least drink something.’

‘Not you _too_.’ Bilbo shook his head firmly, ‘I just don’t think anything will stay down. I’m a...little nervous.’

‘Oh, really? I couldn’t tell.’

‘The green tint to his face gave it away, didn’t it?’ said Lobelia with a nod.

Bilbo lowered his head. ‘You’re both so very supportive,’ he muttered irritably into his rapidly-cooling tea.

Lobelia finally took pity on him, and gave his back a rub. ‘You’ll be fine, Bilbo,’ she said. ‘More than fine. You’ll be brilliant.’

‘Or I’ll accidentally destroy the entire base.’

‘You’ll not be piloting alone,’ Thorin reminded him, ‘and it’ll just be the basics. Here,’ he picked up the spare juice box off of his tray and began to open it, ‘drink this. It’ll help.’

Bilbo eyed the juice suspiciously. ‘Will I throw up in my helmet and be an embarrassment to all Rangers everywhere?’

Thorin looked like he was barely refraining from rolling his eyes. ‘Drink it,’ he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Bilbo took it, and took a tiny sip. ‘You didn’t have to open it for me,’ he grumbled, ‘I’m not a child.’

‘I know you’re not,’ said Thorin. Out of the corner of his eye, Bilbo saw him smile, ever so slightly. ‘I used to have to do that all the time for Fíli. He could never get the hang of them, when he was little.’

It was strange, but Bilbo thought he could imagine it – a tiny, blond-haired Fíli sitting in Thorin’s lap, glaring at his juice box in what was the patented Durin scowl, chubby fingers fumbling with the straw.

‘I bet you spoiled Kíli and Fíli rotten,’ said Lobelia quietly, as if afraid she might disrupt Thorin’s remembrance.

‘We all did. They were hard to say no to.’

‘They still are,’ Lobelia pointed out, and Thorin tilted his head in agreement.

There was a question on the tip of Bilbo’s tongue. What’s changed? He wanted to ask. Why are they not happy to see you? But the query died in his throat as he realised that soon he wouldn’t have to ask at all – soon he would simply _know_. His heart did a little back flip in his chest, and he took another sip of his juice.

 

 

 

There were wires all over the lab, and more than a few had tumbled over the line that bisected the room. Bofur paid them no mind, shuffling around them, stepping over great coils of wires and ducking under one as he worked and talked.

‘Kaiju-Dwarf Drift experiment, take one,’ he said aloud, knowing the recording device he had set up would catch it, ‘I will attempt to Drift with the fragment of the Kaiju’s brain. As my esteemed colleague says, this is no’ possible, but to this assertion, _I_ say-‘ and Bofur blew a raspberry as he hooked up another piece of equipment to the tank. ‘Which I think sums up my thoughts nicely on tha’ matter. Oh, and Lobelia, darlin’ - if I’m alive and you’re listening ta this, then, _stick it up your nose_ , because I’ve to proved that I was right all along, and that means I’ve won.’

Bofur dashed to his keyboard, fingers flying over the console, programming in all of the necessary data. A low hum began issuing from the machine.

‘Or, I suppose you could be listening to this and I’m dead,’ Bofur mused, taking off his hat and putting it carefully to one side, ‘in which case – I’ve hidden a sock in amongst your stuff and _you’ll never be able to find it_. Which also means I’ve won,’ he grinned to himself.

He took a seat, putting the salvaged parts of a Drivesuit helmet on the top of his head. He looked across the room at the Kaiju brain floating about in the tank, and stilled.

‘Well,’ he said quietly, ‘here goes nothin’’

Bofur slammed his hand down on the big red button, and tumbled sideways into the Drift.

 

 

 

Bilbo had never been in a Drivesuit room, not even in Lothlórien, when not a single part of the base had been unknown to him. The Drivesuit technicians were – with only one exception – all Dwarves, and they greeted Thorin and Bilbo enthusiastically when they stepped into the room.

‘Come in, come in! Stand here, laddie,’ said one of them to Bilbo, ushering him into place, ‘that’s it – that’s your spot. Don’t mind the boots, now, they’ll clamp on in three, two, one-‘

Bilbo’s boots snapped into place over his circuitry suit, and he flinched as they clicked over his feet. Around him engineers were assembling the rest of his armour, and most of them were holding drills in their hands. It wasn’t an entirely reassuring sight.

‘Hold still, now – we’ve time to go through this slowly today. Hold your arms out,’ the dwarf reminded him, and the front and back pieces of his chest armour were put in place by one dwarf and the screws tightened by another. Just a few feet away, Thorin was undergoing the same process. His skin-tight circuitry suit was black, just as Bilbo’s was, and the gold lines of the electrical links were scattered across it like stars in the night sky. It was rapidly being covered up by fragments of his dark blue armour, smoothly assembled by his engineers.

It was strange, but Bilbo felt both constricted and protected at the same time. The strangest feeling of all came when a dwarf snapped his spinal circuits into place. It felt as though someone had poured water down the back of his shirt and it had all run down the length of his spine. 

A circuitry cap was placed over the top of his head. ‘Here,’ said yet another technician, and Bilbo’s vision was momentarily blocked out by his helmet, which was then fastened to his suit with a satisfying click.

‘All set!’ said Thorin’s Dwarves a split second before Bilbo’s team called out the same. 

‘Vital signs are good. No problems with the links.’

‘This way, Mr. Baggins.’

A heavy door was opened, revealing the temporary passageway between the Drivesuit room and their Jaeger’s cockpit. Bilbo turned to look at Thorin, only to find that he was already looking in his direction. Thorin’s helmet afforded him a clear view of the dwarf’s hard-eyed stare. _No backing out now_ , he seemed to be saying. Bilbo’s response was to stride forward, onto the passageway, taking the lead into the cockpit.

‘I’ll take the right side. Does that suit you?’ asked Thorin as he stepped in, his voice filtering through the earpiece in Bilbo’s helmet perfectly, as clear as if he had been standing next to Bilbo and directly speaking into his ear.

‘That’s fine,’ said Bilbo, although he wasn’t really listening. He wanted to look in all directions all at once, take in every inch of the cockpit. His feet found the clamps on the left side of the cockpit more by accident than design, and he barely noticed the mechanisms automatically clicking into place around his boots.

‘Are you ready for this?’

Bilbo snapped his attention back to his co-pilot. His nerves were quickly being shouted down by his growing excitement.

‘Are you?’ Bilbo grinned at him.

Thorin said nothing, merely leant back, activating his harness, which smoothly attached itself to his suit. Still smiling, Bilbo did the same, and held out his left hand. The circular Jaeger hand controls flew up into his hand, settling onto his fingers like a knuckleduster. A blue display screen flared into life in front of him, and a smooth, professional voice started to speak into his headset.

‘Good morning, Jaeger pilots,’ it said, ‘can you please confirm that you are in harness and ready for the Drop.’

‘Good morning, Tauriel,’ said Bilbo.

‘Good morning,’ said Thorin as he flicked through various controls on his own display, ‘can we hurry this up? We’re ready.’

‘Your patience hasn’t improved any in the time you were away,’ a second voice said, ‘would you not even like to hear the name of your new Jaeger? It’s very rude to pilot a Jaeger without knowing its name, you know.’

Bilbo could sense Thorin on the verge of countering this – he cut him off before he could begin by saying, ‘yes please, Marshall. I’ve wanted to know her name for a while, now.’

‘At least one of you has some manners.’

‘Dís,’ said Thorin.

‘She’s called _Orcrist Sting_ ,’ said Dís, finally heeding her brother’s warning tone.

Thorin’s snort was relayed through Bilbo’s earpiece with perfect clarity.

‘Are those...the names of swords?’ asked Bilbo hesitantly.

‘Yes, they are, Bilbo,’ said Dís.

‘Why is that funny?’

‘My sister has a very strange sense of humour,’ Thorin said.

‘I do,’ said Dís, ‘but that’s not what this is about. It was named for the two of you, as soon as I knew you were to be our new Rangers.’

Bilbo narrowed his eyes. ‘And how long have you known that?’

He could almost hear her smiling, ‘when my brother first arrived on base.’

‘You are as scary as always, Dís. Nothing has changed,’ Thorin said dryly. Then, more softly, ‘it’s a good name. It’ll do us well.’

‘I like it,’ agreed Bilbo, ‘even though I don’t understand it.’

‘You soon will,’ said Thorin, and though there was no need, he turned as much as he was able in his harness to look at Bilbo. Bilbo felt every inch of the distance between them.

‘Now we have a name, shall we get started?’

‘Ready, Marshal,’ said Bilbo.

‘Ready.’

‘Initiating the Drop,’ Tauriel said, and Bilbo heard the creak and clank of the passageway being retracted and the door clamping shut, ‘in three, two-‘

Bilbo didn’t hear the ‘one’ over the sound of the cockpit being freed of its lodgings. The cockpit plummeted downwards, Bilbo held in place only by his harness, and his stomach swooped and clenched. The cockpit fell smoothly onto the huge shoulders of _Orcrist Sting,_ rotating until it was in place.

‘Prepare for Neural Handshake,’ said Tauriel.

Two brains appeared on their displays, showing the thousands upon thousands of neural links between them and their Jaeger. Bilbo tried to remember his training. He attempted to clear his racing mind of thoughts, putting aside his nerves and excitement. The calmer he was, the more open to the Drift, the easier it would be for the both of them.

‘Initiating in ten...nine...’

In the Comms room, Dís stood up straight and put her hands behind her back. Her personnel were utterly silent. You could hear a pin drop.

‘Eight...seven...’

In the Rec Room, Kíli stood up abruptly and said and left without a word. Fíli understood immediately, and followed on behind. Dwalin watched them both go, let out a sigh, and decided to follow them; Dís would likely need someone on hand to keep her boys from being too underfoot.

‘Six...five...’

‘Orderly, you say,’ said Thorin suddenly.

Bilbo blinked and shot him a look. ‘Yes,’ he said simply.

‘Just don’t try too hard,’ Thorin said with a thread of urgency, ‘a little chaos is good, sometimes.’

‘Alright, Thorin,’ said Bilbo, unsure as to what Thorin was trying to tell him, but it was too late to ask for clarification.

‘Two... _One_.’

 

 

 

_The glow of the forge fires lighting his father’s face. The warm embers of the hearth fire making his mother’s eyes sparkle with light. Come here, let me tell you a story, come closer, let me show you the way we bend metal to our will._

_A meadow of swaying yellow cornflowers under a searing blue sky. Muddy feet, toes scrunching up in puddles, cooling hot soles, the rich smell of roast beef and herb dumplings – it’s mine, cousin, give it back! – and blue-tipped fingers. Dad, why do you still write with a fountain pen? An ink-stained finger taps his nose gently. He is still not tall enough to see over the desk. Well, I’m a fuddy-duddy old hobbit. But sometimes the old ways are the-_

_-best. We have been swordsmiths for as long as there have been Dwarves in Erebor. Look closely, Thorin._

_But she said a bad word to me! You told me to stand up for myself!_

_You made this?_

_You wrote this?_

_-We have protected the people of this mountain for twenty-five generations. I expect you to take on that legacy. Never forget-_

_No, don’t you dare jump - it’s too high, sweatpea was that an earthquake? Did you feel that, the ground-_

_A shower of sparks. A tall elf-woman with short cropped blonde hair, her back to him. He can’t hear a thing, the blast took out his hearing, all he can do is watch as she hefts a rocket grenade launcher to her shoulder and-_

_His sister’s face is too pale. His eyes take in the blunt ends of her newly-cut braid. The treatment shouldn’t last long. What a birthday present. Don’t give me that look._

_A red coat in bright blue wrapping paper. I know it’s not anyone’s birthday, but I thought you’d like it all the same. We have something else for you, son-_

_Frerin, for Mahal’s sake, stop bouncing up and down, you’re making me want to throw up!_

_Then, fleetingly, the impression of Frerin’s memories – ghostly images and the after-echoes of emotions._

_How do you know that? I’m your big brother. I know everything._

_A starburst of sudden light, terror and blind panic so raw that Bilbo flinches away from it altogether. Thorin reacts even as Bilbo steps back mentally, reaching out, flicking the direction of their thoughts on another tangent with startling ease. Breathe, he thinks at Bilbo. Just breathe._

_Footsteps in the rain, a smile as he puts up his umbrella. Dís’ brother is handsome, all purpose and power as he walks, and doesn’t he need an umbrella?_

_– what a surprise, a hobbit, here on a Jaeger Base? His eyes automatically track up and down his figure. Best and brightest. He can believe it - the hobbit’s blue eyes sparkle with intelligence, and isn’t that strange - no beard, but Thorin thinks he could get used to this quick-witted addition to Dís’ retinue._

_Another flicker of a memory. Another all-nighter, sore eyes and cramped muscles, writing hand crooked into a stiff claw around his fountain pen. The shadow of another memory, layered on top. His mother brushing his curls (his braids) back from his face, tucking them behind one ear. Go to sleep, love. The stories can wait. The world doesn’t need saving right this minute._

 

 

 

 

In the real world, their bond began to coalesce and form on their display screens, and _Orcrist Sting_ ’s left hand came up to form a fist. Thorin completed the move even before the right hand was clenched tight, moving the right hand up to defend the body and shifting the right foot back into a fighting stance. He could feel Bilbo’s elation as though it were his own, the hobbit’s thoughts settling into a warm, steady presence in his mind like a heartbeat. _I knew we could do it_ , thrilled Bilbo, and Thorin responded in kind, but with emotions rather than words.

It was so unlike Drifting with Frerin – his brother had been like a firework, his thoughts sparking off with leaps of logic that Thorin had sometimes struggled to keep up with, always laughing at Thorin’s frustration at trying to follow his train of thought.

 _You must miss him_ , whispered Bilbo through their link, as though afraid to encroach on Thorin’s memories.

Thorin berated himself, reeling the thought back in. _It’s alright_ , he said, _it’s in the past. How do you feel?_

Bilbo grinned, and Thorin could feel the accompanying emotion. _It’s extraordinary_ , he said, _I can sense every inch of_ Orcrist. _It’s like...it’s like..._

_Waking up a part of yourself that you never knew existed?_

_Exactly!_

 

 

 

 

In the Command Centre, Tauriel let out a long breath and announced, ‘Bridge is holding steady, Marshall. They’re doing fine.’

Dís’ shoulders relaxed by half an inch. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘let’s walk them through this slowly, shall we? Start with some basic hand-eye co-ordination.’

‘Yes, Marshall,’ said Tauriel, and began to relay instructions to Thorin and Bilbo, monitoring the data that was being fed back into the Command Centre, keeping a close eye on their link.

‘See?’ said Fíli, knocking Kíli’s shoulder, ‘nothing to worry about, just like I told you. Bilbo’s stronger than you-‘

He was abruptly cut off by a wide-eyed Lobelia bursting into the room.

‘Marshall! Marshall, something’s happened to Bofur,’ she said, completely out of breath but forcing her words out all the same.

‘What is it, Lobelia?’ Dís said, not turning from her observation of _Orcrist Sting_ , ‘can it not wait? We’re undergoing-‘

‘Some extremely important tests, I know, and I apologise for the intrusion but Bofur has just _Drifted with a Kaiju_.’

‘He _what_ ,’ snapped Dwalin incredulously, ‘is he alive?’

‘He is, though I might decided to kill him myself next time I see him,’ said Lobelia grimly, ‘but Marshall, you _need_ to hear what he has to say.’

Dís turned, took one look at Lobelia’s too-pale face, and said, ‘lead on, Miss Bracegirdle. Tauriel, you know what to do.’

 

 

 

 

Back in Drift Space, Bilbo was busy feeling out their link.

 _You’re supposed to be concentrating on hand-eye co-ordination_ , Thorin rebuked teasingly, amused at Bilbo’s fascination at the Drift..

 _I know, but it’s just so fascinating. I’m not sure how my brain can manage it all at once – having_ Orcrist Sting _as an extension of myself, but also being aware of what_ you’re _experiencing._

_You were right, you know._

A flare of surprise.

_About you being capable. This is going far smoother than I had ever anticipated. It’s quite extraordinary._

_Well, I am quick-witted and sparkling with intelligence_ , laughed Bilbo.

There was no need for embarrassment, or shame. Such things only ever inhibited a set of pilot’s ability to Drift; besides, Thorin was hardly unarmed.

 _And apparently I have nice shoulders_ , Thorin countered, _perhaps I should make sure to wear my training gear more often_ , and it was an utter delight to feel Bilbo blushing through the link.

 _Perhaps we should go back to concentrating on this next manoeuvre_ , suggested Bilbo.

 _We can do two things at once_ , Thorin said, unable to resist the urge to press the point, _you seem to be good at multitasking. You were apparently able to both ogle me and take notes during the tests._

 _I did not_ ogle! Bilbo all but shouted, but there was a melody of laugher running through it, _a Baggins does not_ ogle _, we merely...admire._

This time, it was Thorin who had to laugh. He could feel the emotion relaying to Bilbo, and the effect it had on the hobbit a feedback loop that went on and on, looping back and forth – pleasure at making Thorin laugh, a stirring of affection, accomplishment...laugher took on a whole new dimension in the Drift. It had always been so hard to explain to others who had never experienced it, but Frerin had once put it best – it was the difference between hearing music on the radio and seeing it for yourself, standing next to an orchestra or a band, so close that you could feel the beat of it in your chest, as though you were a part of the music itself.

But their steady, strong Drift was not to last. When it came, it slammed into them out of nowhere without a hint of warning, an explosion in their minds, and Thorin could do little to ward it off. A second in real life was the equivalent of a full minute in Drift Space. When the memories flooded in, Bilbo and Thorin were engulfed, washed away, and powerless to do anything more than simply hold on and hope it would end.

 

 

 

 

‘They’re out of alignment,’ said Tauriel, her fingers flying over the control, ‘Thorin, can you hear me? Thorin, you have to centre yourself again. Thorin-‘

 

 

 

 

 _The cockpit is buckling. It shouldn’t be buckling, that’s Dwarven craft, designed and assembled by Ereboreans but it’s happening anyway, ripping apart as though it were nothing more than paper to the Kaiju’s claws. The beat of Frerin’s terror is like the thudding of a drum in Thorin’s mind and they need to do something right now,_ right now _, but his left arm is all but crippled and the Kaiju’s taken out their core and now he’s coming for them,_ it knows where they are _and it’s too late. Thorin can see the moon through the gaping wound of the hull._

_Frerin turns to him. Thorin can see the whites of his eyes through his helmet. ‘Thorin,’ he says, ‘Thorin, you have to-‘_

_He is ripped from his harness by a huge swipe of a claw. In his mind his brother’s pure, undiluted fear has caused Thorin to forget how to breathe. He catches the edge of his train of thought –_ no, please, Mahal, no, Thorin, help me, help _\- and then he is gone, and there’s a hole in his head where his brother should be, he’s been torn in two, his whole soul is reaching out, searching for any trace of him but he is gone-_

 __The memory was wrenched sideways, spiralling into another like a runaway train on a collision course.

_Dís, standing at the edge of the rooftop, her pale blue dress swirling around her ankles, her lose and unbound hair glittering with snow, a radio in hand. Beyond her, in the distance, flares of blood-red light mark the on-going battle, the roar of it still not enough to drown out Dís’ next words._

‘Iron Avalanche, _the city has been evacuated,’ Dís says into the radio. Behind Thorin Tauriel is screaming at them to_ get in the helicopter, for Eru’s sake! _, but Thorin wants to hear Dís’ next words –_ needs _to hear them, and he wouldn’t have been able to move even if he’d wanted to._

 _Dís’ voice, her steady, commanding voice, breaks as she says, ‘_ Iron Avalanche _, you are clear to detonate at will,’ and then, in a sob, ‘goodbye, cousin.’_

 _This is home, but home has been ripped from him, and why, why couldn’t it have been_ him _and not his baby brother, who’s going to smile at Thorin’s terrible puns and make stupid jokes for Dís when she’s sad how much will they take from us, how much-_

_The city of Erebor lights up like a star going supernova. It is beautiful, and terrible, and he cannot bear to look away. He is gripping Dís’ hand with all his strength, and she is gripping back just as hard, but he barely feels it. He is hollow. His heart and lungs and stomach have been carved out. There is nothing left, not even pain, just the glimmer of gold in the glass held in between his fingers, bitter laughter and Dís’ kindness when he least deserves it and New Greenwood is nothing like home –_

 

 

 

 

Ten seconds had passed since Thorin and Bilbo had been snapped forcibly out of alignment.

The backlash was instantaneous, and its impact devastating. In the real world, Thorin reeled back from the overflowing memories, his training reasserting order to the maelstrom that had flooded his mind. His heart was thudding in his chest, trying to break free of its cage. He took a sharp breath and concentrated fiercely with every fibre of his body – he had to reign it in, _had to_ , for Bilbo’s sake, and Thorin would find time to hate himself later for putting the hobbit through such an ordeal because he had allowed his concentration to slip.

‘Are you-‘ he turned to his partner, and his words died in his throat. Bilbo was staring dead-ahead, eyes blank and unseeing, deathly still.

Thorin’s heart clenched up in his chest. ‘Bilbo, no, don’t-‘

 

 

 

 

_-it’s snowing, it’s still snowing, and isn’t that strange, after such a cataclysmic explosion that had torn apart earth and sky?_

_The white winter snow settles on Bilbo’s arms. Not snow, he thinks, and it coalesces into a thin layer of dust, a film over his skin – but why is his skin exposed? – and it winds its way down into his lungs with every breath, sticks to the back of his throat. A boom echoes through the darkness, ricochets through the very core of him._

_He is seventeen again, and he can barely think through his grief._

 

 

 

 

‘Bilbo, Bilbo, _can you hear me_? Don’t chase the R.A.B.I.T., do you hear? _Bilbo_.’

It was no use. In the Comms room, Bilbo’s vital statistics were likely going haywire, but Thorin could feel the effect of it himself – distress was coming off of Bilbo in waves, an endless ocean of grief. 

Thorin knew he had but one option left. He was still in his harness, and if he could not reach Bilbo physically, then he had to do so by other means. He was going to have to follow Bilbo into the memory, and trust to his own skill to get them both out again.

He closed his eyes, reached out towards that steady warm glow, and breathed in the tang of ozone.

 

 

 

 

_He is in an alleyway. There is the wail of sirens in the distance, high and piecing and full of despair, and the sound of heavy ammunitions._

_His focus snaps to the alleyway’s entrance in time to see a small figure dash around the corner. Thorin only sees his face for half a moment before he turns back the way he came with terrified eyes, but Thorin would know Bilbo anywhere, in any form. His partner is but a child in this memory that has so ensnared him. Bilbo’s bright red coat is decorated with dust, his curly hair far longer here than it is in the present. Thorin’s heart aches for him, but his emotions are of no use to anyone unless they can be utilised to get them out of his mess._

_A shudder runs through the ground, followed by the unearthly cry of a Kaiju. Bilbo screams, stumbles back a few steps, and flings up one hand as if to ward off a blow. The outstretched hand holds only a white handkerchief, but in the real world Thorin can feel the consequences – the Jaeger’s plasma canon is powering up._

_‘Bilbo, it’s okay, this isn’t real,’ Thorin attempts, but he feels foolish as soon as the words are out of the mouth. For Bilbo, this is terrifyingly real, and Thorin can feel the echo of it through their link, the fraying of Bilbo’s consciousness._

_There is a faint whisper in his ears, so soft Thorin cannot distinguish a single word. He ignores it._

_Another shockwave. The Kaiju is moving closer. Where are they? Which city is this? But nothing matters save for the way Bilbo flinches and whimpers, cringing away. The noise becomes unbearable, and Bilbo breaks the hold his terror has over him and hides behind a garbage container, curling up into a ball. Thorin, with his dual, split perception, can still feel the plasma canon charging. He is running out of time._

 

 

 

 

‘Clear the room!’ Dwalin roared, and the personnel scrambled to obey.

‘Pull the plug, _now_!’ Tauriel cried, already in motion, unhooking wires from the back of the console, attempting to temper the backlash that would inevitably come from forcibly ripping Thorin and Bilbo out of the Drift. Kíli and Fíli all but leapt over the console to heave at the main plug, which tugged loose by a bare inch and no more until Dwalin rushed to help, and then it came free in a screech of protesting electronics.

‘They’re still connected,’ said Fíli, shaking visibly. The glow from the plasma canon was lighting up the room. ‘What do we do now?’

 

 

 

 

_Thorin reaches out for the small, terrified form of his partner, mind racing. His heavy, gauntleted hand lands on Bilbo’s thin shoulder, but the hobbit cannot feel it. Sobs wrack his frame, so violent that every limb shakes. The noise of the Kaiju is reaching a crescendo, so loud it threatens to overwhelm all of Thorin’s senses until he can think of nothing but the roar of approaching danger. Claws tearing into concrete, the furious destruction of another obstacle being torn apart, the low growl of a predator stalking its prey, triggering something deep inside of Thorin, pressing on that most primal of fears. They are being hunted._

_Bilbo screams, and now the whisper in Thorin’s ears grows louder, loud enough for him to hear tumble of words._

_It’s my fault, it’s my fault, they’re dead and it’s my fault, it’s all my fault-_

_‘No,’ Thorin says, low and urgent, ‘no it’s not – Bilbo none of this is your fault, you are good and kind and just a child - for Durin’s sake, please just_ listen _.’_

_It’s no use. Bilbo is lost. But Thorin can reach him in other ways._

_He remembers soft sunlight and a garden full of flowers, the way that his own heart had stirred at such peace and serenity, the way that it had drawn out of Thorin his own kinder, sweeter memories that he had believed had been buried under the weight of grief and anger._

_Perhaps Thorin could now do the same for Bilbo, and kill this memory with kindness._

_The background noise of the Kaiju has changed. Thorin barely registers the sight of a black Jaeger storming into battle. He is too busy concentrating, turning his focus inwards._

_Fíli, so small he fits into the crook of Thorin’s arm, and Thorin doesn’t feel powerful at all – instead he feels weak in the face of this yawning, soft infant who is so reliant on his strength. Kíli, clinging to his trouser leg, looking up at him with big, dark eyes. I’m scared, Uncle, it went boom and Fíli said it was only thunder but- and Thorin draws him closer, sits him on his lap and wipes away his drying tears with his thumb, and how long has it been since he was called Uncle? They have every right to be angry – he disappeared for five years -_

_But no, he cannot think of that._

_Courting beads in Dís’ hair. Gold twisted through her braids, silver bells and a crown of pure mithril. Are you sure I don’t look silly? Of course not, Frerin says quickly, saying what Thorin could never express, you look lovely, Dís._

_Bursting in on an important meeting, but his Grandfather doesn’t mind the impropriety – he smiles behind his great big beard, presses a whiskery kiss to a protesting Thorin’s cheek. Here, Thorin, sit on my right side. Who knows, my ministers might learn a thing or two from you._

_Gently shifting from sleep to the waking world. He is safe and tired from playing hide and seek, and he doesn’t even remember falling asleep. Dís is a warm weight, curled up at his side, and Frerin has all but collapsed on top of his stomach, golden hair spilling everywhere. The snap of a camera diverts his attention to the door – his mother is standing there, grinning at him, utterly beautiful, an old-fashioned camera in her hands._

_On their way to the Durin’s Day festival, and his formal clothes are pinching at his neck and wrists, but he is more interested in the way his entire family is spilling out of the family home – it’s ordered chaos, everyone is chattering and bickering and arguing, and Grandmother is fussing over Grandfather’s tie, and Frerin keeps knocking his clothes askew every time their father’s back is turned, smiling merrily, and Dís is arm-in-arm with her husband, and Dain is rambling on about new ways of refining steel to Dwalin-_

_Thorin opens his eyes._

_The world is quiet. The fight is over, and Bilbo stands before him fully grown once more._

_Thorin, sobs Bilbo through their link, I’m sorry. It was my fault. I begged them to go. I nagged at them for_ weeks _._

_Thorin doesn’t say, _it’s okay_ , because he knows that for Bilbo, it never will be._

_You can’t blame yourself for the evil the Kaiju bring, he says instead, I’ve done that for years, Bilbo. That way madness lies._

_Bilbo looks so lost. His blue eyes are shadowed, and Thorin reaches out to him with all that he is._

_But what you can do is come with me, and we’ll face them, we’ll beat them – together. I swear to you, we will destroy them all._

_He offers out his hand to Bilbo. Bilbo takes one last look around the alleyway, sadness etched on his young face, and takes Thorin’s hand._

 

 

 

 

‘Plasma canon, powering down,’ said the cool electronic voice of the computer.

Dwalin leant against the console and breathed deeply through his nose. Around him, the others were doing the same, attempting to regain their sense of equilibrium. But Tauriel moved swiftly back to her seat and took up her headpiece.

‘Thorin, do you copy?’ she said, ‘Thorin, is Bilbo alright?’

 

 

 

 

‘He’s fine,’ Thorin barely had time to say before he detached himself from his armour, rushing over to do the same to Bilbo just as the hobbit slumped like a puppet with his strings cut. Thorin had to physically catch him before he hit the floor. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered, and his mouth was slack.

‘Can you hear me?’ Thorin tentatively asked, slumping down to the floor under Bilbo’s weight. His partner was likely to lose unconsciousness after such an ordeal, but Thorin found himself hoping fervently that Bilbo would hold on to the waking world for just a few more moments so he could know for certain that his co-pilot was alright.

And as stubborn as ever, Bilbo did just that. Thorin watched as he blinked and visibly struggled to stay awake, before his eyes focused on Thorin’s face. Thorin could feel the after-effects of their Drift fizzing around in his head, their connection still lingering.

‘Thank you,’ said Bilbo before Thorin could even attempt an apology.

‘Whatever for?’ Thorin said incredulously.

‘For pulling me back.’ 

Thorin’s heart skipped a beat, and a choked off gasp died in his throat. He had no idea how to respond. How on Arda could Bilbo thank him after the ordeal Thorin had put him through he would never know, no matter how many times they Drifted. If Bilbo ever wanted to Drift with him again, that is.

Bilbo’s brows furrowed in puzzled indignation, interrupting Thorin’s bleak line of thought. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were a prince?’ he said.

It was all too much. Bilbo was practically pouting, and Thorin’s relieved, startled laughter echoed around the cockpit.

 

 

 

 


	6. Sirens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how supremely late this chapter is - my workload has kicked up a notch, and this chapter gave me a bit of trouble. I think it's sorted now, hope you all enjoy!

Marshall Dís took one look Bofur, who was violently shaking and whose whole body was twitching every ten seconds, and said,

‘I need you to do it again.’

‘ _What_?’ spluttered Lobelia. ‘Marshall, look at him - you can’t ask this of him!’ She pushed off from the lab table she had been leaning against, expression incredulous and hands open, beseeching.

‘I am suggesting exactly that. We need more data,’ said Dís.

‘It will _kill_ him,’ ground out Lobelia.

Dís sent her a quelling look, but it was Bofur who cut off her next argument.

‘I can’t,’ he said, twisting his fingers further into the fur of his cap with one hand and attempting to take a sip of whiskey with the other. He could barely put the glass to his lips to sip, and gave up after a moment.

‘You can’t?’ repeated Dís, brows drawing together.

‘See, even Bofur agrees with me, once was idiotic en-‘

‘I don’t have the materials. The brain’s dead,’

‘Bofur!’

‘And I’ve no idea where I’d get another, unless you jus’ happen ta have a Kaiju brain lyin’ anywhere, Marshall, along wi’ your secret stash of whiskey.’ Bofur appeared to think about it. A hopeful expression came over his face. ‘Have you?’ he said.

‘No, I have not,’ said Dís, watching as Bofur’s whole body slumped back into the chair. ‘But I know someone who might,’ she added.

The effect on the two scientists was instantaneous. Lobelia tensed, a furious expression darting over her pretty features, but she said nothing, crossing her arms and digging her fingernails into her biceps.

Bofur, on the other hand, was looking at Dís as though she had just told him that she was the seventh incarnation of Durin. Dís reached into the inside pocket of her jacket and drew out a small, blank card, holding it out to Bofur, who took it, flicking it over and over, trying to understand what was so special about it. Even Lobelia began to peer interestedly over Bofur’s shoulder.

‘You’ll need this, too,’ said Dís, handing Bofur what looked like a pen. ‘It’s a light that mimics the light of the full moon.’

‘Moon runes?’ guessed Lobelia, ‘I thought they didn’t make such things anymore.’

‘Apparently they still do,’ said Bofur, shining the light over the card to reveal an intricate geometrical design.

‘It’s time for you to go and see an old friend,’ sighed Dís, ‘he’ll get you your Kaiju brain, Bofur, but do not trust him, do you understand?’

‘Oh, aye, Marshall,’ said Bofur absently, still playing with the pen.

Dís put a hand on the lab table and leant in to Bofur’s personal space until the scientist had no choice but to look her in the eye.

‘Do _not_ trust him,’ she said, ‘do you understand?’

‘Yes, Marshall,’ Bofur said, giving Dís his full attention. He was shivering a little less than he had been ten minutes ago. He might even be able to walk soon.

‘Good,’ nodded Dís, stepping back.

An alarm promptly sounded, so sudden that Lobelia flinched.

‘Marshal Dís to the Command Centre, we have a situation,’ said a voice through the sound system, ‘ _Marshal Dís to the Command Centre_.’

 

 

 

When Bilbo had finally, _finally_ been availed of every medical test in existence, he found himself standing outside of Dís’ office, shoulder-to-shoulder with his co-pilot. The corridor was nondescript, a little grubby, a little run-down, just like any other section of the base. It was also blessedly free of people.

Bilbo sighed into the silence of the corridor and said, ‘I’m fine.’

Bilbo sensed, rather than saw, Thorin frown. ‘I didn’t say anything,’ he said.

‘You were thinking it,’ said Bilbo, ‘sort of. Thinking it in my direction.’ 

Bilbo was almost certain that hadn’t made any sense, but he was too tired to care. The after-effects of his and Thorin’s Drift were hard to put into words; it wasn’t telepathy, precisely, not as it was when they had been properly linked - more of an acute awareness of Thorin’s concern. It was flattering, but Bilbo did wish that Thorin would stop worrying.

‘It’s a justified concern,’ said Thorin stiffly through his teeth, and Bilbo knew what was coming even before Thorin had a chance to open his mouth again. He was surprised Thorin had held off for so long.

Thorin did not disappoint. ‘What you’ve just been through-‘ he started in a low rumble, but Bilbo wasn’t going to let that pass.

‘You went through it too,’ corrected Bilbo quickly. Thorin gave a short, sharp shake of the head.

‘What I _put_ you through,’ he said, holding up a hand when Bilbo began to protest, ‘would exhaust even the most experienced of pilots. We don’t have to do this now. Dís would let you rest, if you asked-‘

‘I’m _fine_ ,’ said Bilbo.

Thorin simply levelled him with a look. Bilbo could sense the disbelief rolling off of him in waves.

‘I’m as well as can be expected,’ he amended, looking away. The corridor was warm, but Bilbo shivered all the same. Drifting was all he had hoped it was – and more. A lot more. The quicksilver connection between him and _Orcrist_ had made the very core of him sing, but all he could think of now were the memories that had been dredged up from the dark depths of their respective psyches, the way they had tumbled into them as though the ground had opened up beneath them. Bilbo hadn’t realised the extent of Thorin’s loss. Oh, he’d read Thorin’s file and felt the typical ache of regret, as he always did when he read the paper or listened to the radio and heard reports of yet another tragedy. But the war had been full of stories like Thorin’s, and Bilbo’s capacity for sympathy, his ability to feel anything deeper than a fleeting sense of sadness, had been blunted over the years.

But he hadn’t been a bystander when he’d seen Thorin’s brother torn from the cockpit, or when Thorin’s home had gone up in smoke. He wondered how Thorin could stand it, how he could still walk and talk, let alone be willing to get back into a Jaeger. 

‘Now who’s thinking concern in my direction,’ said Thorin, interrupting Bilbo’s contemplation, and Bilbo wasn’t the only one who was tired – Thorin sounded as drained as Bilbo felt.

‘That made no sense grammatically,’ said Bilbo half-heartedly.

Thorin merely lifted one shoulder up in response. With some of his remaining energy, Bilbo turned his thoughts away from Thorin’s past. He would rather not dwell too much on it. He was almost certain that Thorin was, and at least one of them should be attempting to look on the brighter side of things. Their Drift _had_ been good – excellent, even, if Bilbo was remembering the readings right, and their darkest memories weren’t the only things that they’d shared. Bilbo remembered Erebor, before the Kaiju attack, the city so large that it spilled out of the mouth of the Lonely Mountain, all tall, sharp skyscrapers that not only shot up into the sky but deep beneath the earth, too. The city had been a testament to Dwarven design and architecture, a curious blend of new and old. Thorin had loved it – he still did – but that love of place had paled in comparison to how Thorin felt about his nephews and his sister.

A sudden thought sprung to mind. ‘I’m still annoyed that you didn’t tell me you were a prince,’ said Bilbo, breaking the silence again.

‘I was hoping you’d forgotten about that,’ Thorin said distantly, his attention clearly still elsewhere.

‘Forgotten?’ snorted Bilbo, ‘how could I have forgotten? It’s hardly trivial.’

‘But it is. It’s just a title.’

‘Have I been addressing you incorrectly?’ Bilbo persisted. Thorin’s eyes were firmly fixed to the other side of the corridor, and it was suddenly very important that he look at Bilbo. ‘Should I have bowed when I first met you?’

‘No, you needn’t worry about that.’

‘But it’s not just you – what about Kíli and Fíli, and – goodness, what about _Dís_?’ Bilbo said with mock-anxiousness.

‘Could you really imagine bowing to those two?’ Thorin said wryly, turning to look at Bilbo at last, ‘they’re menaces as it is. Don’t go and give them airs and graces.’

‘Are you sure? Are you sure I’ve not committed treason in Dwarven terms?’ Bilbo knew he was laying it on thick, but Thorin was properly looking at him - albeit with a highly bemused expression - his focus on Bilbo rather than whatever dark thought had ensnared him. ‘I know we’re on a neutral base, but there’s a lot of Dwarves here-‘

‘You’re safe from us, Bilbo,’ Thorin cut in.

‘From _you_ , maybe, but what of my own kind?’ Bilbo shook his head, as if despairing of Thorin. ‘Etiquette is very important to Hobbits, you know, even in this day and age.’

‘Even during war?’

Bilbo let out a short, high-pitched laugh. ‘ _Especially_ during war. I’d be disowned by my own species if they knew how I’d addressed you. Lobelia would self-combust, could you imagine? She cares more about these things than _I_ do. We’d never be allowed back in the Shire.’

‘Bilbo-‘

‘Not that I can go back anyway. Well, I doubly can’t go back _now_ , what with the lack of bowing and the-‘

Thorin put a hand to Bilbo’s shoulder, effectively stopping Bilbo’s rambling.

‘You’re _safe_ ,’ he insisted, and Bilbo realised his hands were shaking. He looked away from Thorin’s knowing eyes and pressed his hands together, behind his back, embarrassed to have let his mouth run away from him. He thought he could hear the distant sound of howling sirens, but when he turned his ears to the noise it blended seamlessly into the low-level rumble of the Base’s engines. He took two long, deep breaths. Clean breaths, full of stale, Base air. Thorin’s words rattled around in his brain for a moment, and he felt settled enough to turn back to the dwarf and say,

‘So how does it work? Because I caught a glimpse of it in the Drift, but not enough to get a clear idea.’

Thorin let his hand fall away from Bilbo’s shoulder, brows lowered in concern. ‘It’s just a title, as I said. The Line of Durin has protected Erebor – watched over it – since Dwarves first began to mine the mountain. But we gave up our kingship two generations ago when it became clear that a new form of government was required.’

‘But you still have - had...ministers?’ Bilbo said, trying to remember the flash of a memory with Thorin’s grandfather.

Thorin nodded. He seemed to be more at ease now he had something as straightforward as politics to talk about.

‘We have a parliament, and a Prime Minister, who we swear in, but the Durins hold no power any more. We’re not allowed to hold office. Most of us – as you may have noticed – go in to military service.’

‘Yes, I had noticed a pattern,’ Bilbo said, mustering up a small smile.

He was about to continue with his questioning, but at that moment Kíli and Fíli rounded the corner at the end of the corridor, and Kíli caught sight of Thorin. Bilbo had known that some manner of confrontation between Thorin and his nephews’ was bound to happen sooner or later, if Kíli and Fíli’s constant scowls in Thorin’s direction had been anything to go by, but it still didn’t prepare him for what happened next.

‘ _You_!’ snapped Kíli, eyes lit by his anger, ‘you almost killed all of us! Bilbo could have lost his _mind_!’

‘No, Kíli, that wasn’t-‘ Bilbo started, taken aback by the sheer amount of anger in Kíli’s voice. Fíli, two steps behind, reached out to lay a hand on his brother’s shoulder but no more, his expression tight and unreadable.

Thorin spoke over the top of Bilbo, voice low and devoid of emotion. ‘Don’t speak of things you don’t understand.’

‘Don’t _understand_?’ sneered Kíli, shrugging off his brother’s hand and taking two steps forwards, ‘I think we understood perfectly from where we were standing, Thorin – on the other end of the canon that could have blown us to pieces if Bilbo hadn’t of snapped out of it!’

‘Thorin snapped me out of it, if it wasn’t for _him_ I’d still be lost,’ said Bilbo, but Kíli barely registered that he’d spoken.

‘The test was a risk,’ said Thorin from behind Bilbo, ‘we both knew it. What would you have preferred me to do, Kíli? We need a third Jaeger.’

‘You could have stayed _away_ ,’ Kíli was all but shouting now, ‘you did it for five years, what’s a few more months?’

‘ _Kíli_ ,’ said Fíli under his breath, gripping Kíli’s arm again, angling himself into Kíli’s space as if afraid of what Kíli might do, but, glaringly, he hadn’t refuted any of Kíli’s accusations.

‘I knew it was a mistake. I tried to talk Mum out of it, and look what’s happened-‘ 

And Kíli’s tirade was at last cut off by another voice, snapping out his name like the crack of a whip.

They turned to see Tauriel and Dís in the doorway to Dís’ office. Bilbo couldn’t hope to ever read Dís’ expression in that moment. All he knew was that all activity immediately ceased, and whatever Kíli had seen on his mother’s face was enough to silence him. He still seemed tense, tightly wound – Bilbo could see that even through the bulky jacket he was wearing – but he held his tongue.

‘Rangers,’ said Dís with deadly calm, ‘back to your posts. _Immediately_.’

Kíli and Fíli did not scramble over each other in their haste to get away, as Bilbo had seen them do so many times before. Instead Kíli shot one last, furious glare in Thorin’s direction and turned to storm away with long strides. Fíli glanced between his mother and Thorin, a low, simmering anger causing his gold eyes to flare before he too walked away.

The stifling tension lifted, and Bilbo felt as though he could breathe again. There were a few beats of silence, during which Bilbo came to realise that he had instinctively stepped in front of Thorin at some point during Kíli’s outburst. Feeling foolish, Bilbo stepped aside, glancing over to Thorin, willing his heart rate to settle. He hated to see the brothers like that, and it was worse still to see them take it out on Thorin. A low thrum of pain was rattling around in the back of Bilbo’s mind, adding to his own discomfort. Thorin was avoiding Bilbo’s eye, lost in memories that Bilbo could not pick up on, not in his current state. Bilbo’s fingers itched with the need to reach out and comfort, but he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate – or wanted - in their current situation.

‘I’ll action it immediately,’ said Tauriel to Dís, breaking the uncomfortable silence at last. Dís nodded to her, shooting her a fleetingly grateful look before she turned her gaze on Thorin and Bilbo.

‘Bilbo, Thorin. Come inside,’ she all but sighed.

Bilbo followed Thorin into Dís’ sparse office space. She closed the door behind them, and Bilbo tried and failed in his attempt not to fidget. He had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t going to like what Dís had to say to them. It was something that he had known was coming from the moment his armour had been removed, but he’d ignored it, hoping against hope he was wrong. Now it appeared he had hoped in vain.

‘I’ll get straight to it,’ said Dís, ‘in light of recent events, I am left with little choice but to stand you down as the pilots of _Orcrist Sting_.’

He’d known it was coming, but knowing and hearing it were two different things, and for a few moments Bilbo could do little but stare at Marshall Dís and try and stamp down on his sense of betrayal.

Beside him, Thorin barely reacted at all. He would have soon known Bilbo’s anger for his silence had Bilbo not been able to feel the crushing weight of his despair – for a split second the feeling was so intense Bilbo could actually hear a whisper of his thoughts: _I should have stayed away,_ before Thorin got a hold of the tumble of his emotions, and then Bilbo could barely sense anything at all, as though a wall has suddenly slammed down between them. The sudden shift was so startling Bilbo physically rocked backwards from it.

But he wasn’t done yet. He reined in his fear, his worry and his anger at Dís and said in as even a tone as he could manage, ‘permission to speak freely, Marshall.’

‘Yes, I thought you’d have something to say about that,’ said Dís with little humour, ‘permission granted, Bilbo.’

‘It was a fluke,’ Bilbo said, and he felt as though he were arguing for his life, ‘it was a fluke and nothing happened – next time I know, I _know_ we can work together. You said it yourself, we make a good team – you could see it on the screen! I know the data’ll back me up. Just...give us another chance, please Marshall.’

Dís looked pained, and Bilbo’s heart dropped.

‘Next time?’ echoed Thorin, breaking his silence.

‘What?’ said Bilbo, thrown off-course, turning to look at Thorin. It took a moment for him to follow what Thorin was getting at. ‘Yes, next time,’ Bilbo said blithely, but then he took one look at Thorin’s closed-off expression and faltered. ‘Unless – unless you don’t want to?’

‘I do,’ said Thorin, and a trickle of his emotions began to filter back to Bilbo. Chief among them was relief.

‘Be that as it may,’ interrupted Dís, drawing their attention away from each other and back to her, ‘I have no guarantee of stability for your link. I can’t risk it. I’m sorry.’

‘I understand,’ said Thorin. He and Dís held each other’s gazes for a moment, and Bilbo caught the way the edges of Dís’ mouth tightened and her eyes darkened with something like regret and deep, unabiding sadness. Some manner of silent communication passed between the siblings, and at last Thorin turned away. Bilbo rocked back on his heels, the tension that had been keeping him upright and awake slowly bleeding from his body. They were done – they couldn’t fight Dís on this, and in that single gesture of Thorin’s, Bilbo knew it.

‘Permission to be dismissed, ma’am,’ said Bilbo tonelessly.

Dís nodded, and Bilbo turned to go. Thorin didn’t follow, but Bilbo found he didn’t care. He knew they both needed some time alone to properly sort through all that had happened.

He paused at the door and said, ‘you might want to try out Legolas and Gimli.’

‘Those two?’ said Thorin, disapproval evident, ‘why?’

‘You think they’re compatible?’

‘As loathe as I am to give away _Orcrist_ ,’ said Bilbo, ‘I think they’d make excellent co-pilots, if you can get them to stay in the same room long enough to test them.’ He snorted humourlessly. ‘At the very least, it’d be entertaining.’

Dís gave a slow nod. ‘I’ll give it some thought, thank you.’

Bilbo nodded in return, and exited, feeling Thorin’s mind recede and fade from his own with every step he took.

 

 

 

As tired as Bilbo was, there was still something he felt he needed to do before he crashed into his bunk and slept for the next twelve hours. Upon leaving Dís’ office, he made a beeline straight for the hangar bay, keeping his head down as he went and trying his best to ignore the whispers that inevitably sprung up whenever he passed other personnel.

But in spite of his determination not to catch anyone’s eye, a small figure drew his attention when he began to near the hangar bay.

‘Lobelia?’ he said, surprised. Lobelia hardly ever strayed down to the depths of the engineering levels. He did not have long to wonder over her presence, however – when Lobelia turned at the sound of his voice, Bilbo took one look at her clothes and knew exactly where she was going.

‘What’s going on?’

Lobelia met his concerned look with dull eyes, tugging her big, thick winter coat tighter around her.

‘Bilbo,’ she said, a spark of concern lighting her face, ‘are you alright? I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you, I...had a thing...’

She trailed off. Bilbo shook his head and said, ‘no, it’s fine. I’m fine. Well, I’m no longer a Jaeger pilot, so I’m not exactly happy, but I’m...I’m healthy, at least.’

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, voice heavy with sympathy.

‘It’s alright,’ Bilbo lied, ‘what about you - what are you doing?’

‘I’m going to Ered Luin.’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Bilbo said, gesturing to her coat. 

‘I’m going after Bofur,’ she said, ‘he’s off to who knows where, and he’ll need my help. He always does,’ she added softly, almost to herself.

‘Lobelia,’ said Bilbo, starting forward, ‘are you alright?’

‘You should tell him how you feel,’ said Lobelia suddenly, ‘and don’t just rely on the Drift like I know you will. He has to know, Bilbo.’

‘What? What are you-‘ Bilbo cut himself off. He knew exactly what Lobelia was referring to, but that didn’t mean he understood. ‘It’s...it’s not like that, at least – not yet. I don’t know. It’s all happening too quickly. Wait, how do _you_ know?’

‘I know everything,’ said Lobelia with a quirk of her mouth. ‘I only had to have one breakfast with the two of you to know. I’ve known you since you were two years old, Bilbo. I could see the way you were looking at him.’

‘It’s too soon,’ muttered Bilbo.

‘It’s not too soon,’ Lobelia said, and laughed. There was no humour to the sound. She suddenly looked very lost. ‘It’s the end of the world,’ she said, ‘haven’t you heard?’

‘Lobelia,’ said Bilbo again, at a complete loss. He and Lobelia were almost the same age – she was only a few months younger than him - but at that moment she looked ten years younger. The flash of fear passed in an instant, as quickly as Bilbo could catch it, and Lobelia straightened her shoulders.

‘There’s going to be a double event soon,’ she said, almost glaring at him, and though he would challenge her on this point.

‘You’re sure?’ Bilbo asked, wide-eyed.

‘Yes. I’m right. I know I’m right. Shortly thereafter there’ll be a _triple_ event.’ She gave Bilbo a hard look. ‘You need to tell him, you idiot. At the very least, if he rejects you, you won’t have long to feel embarrassed.’

He stared at her. She had always been harsh with her opinions and never afraid to say what everyone else was too embarrassed or too scared to, no matter what the consequences, but this was different. It smacked of despair.

‘Don’t say that,’ he said, ‘please - don’t say that.’

‘Why? It’s true. There’s a distinct possibility we might all be dead in a week. Likely sooner, considering how close we are to the Breach.’ She appeared to shake herself, straightening her coat until it lay perfectly over her small frame. ‘There’s also a distinct possibility that we can do something about that. So. I’m going to Ered Luin, and I’m going to give Bofur a kick up the arse, and we’re going to save the world.’

‘Right,’ said Bilbo faintly.

‘And you’re going to tell Thorin exactly how much you want to jump his bones.’

Bilbo groaned, running a hand through his hair. Exhaustion was making his eyes prickle and itch, and he resisted the urge to rub at them.

‘Well. I’m sure you’ll say it with far more romance than that.’ Lobelia’s fierce expression softened, her mouth tugging up at the edges into something resembling a smile. ‘Stay safe,’ she said, stepping in close to him, ‘keep each other safe. I’ll see you on the other side.’

She gave him a quick, tight hug, kissed him on the cheek, and walked away, towards the transport bays. Bilbo could smell her rarely-used perfume with his next few intakes of breath. He remained standing there for a full minute, letting engineers and staff members swirl around him, uncaring as to what they thought. Eventually, he decided that his conversation with Lobelia was simply too much to take in – instead of thinking over the ramifications of Lobelia’s goodbye, he shuffled her revelations to the back of his mind. There were other things he needed to think about.

Kíli and Fíli were exactly where he thought they would be: attending to their Jaeger. The brothers were in the main garage set aside to repair and fix the smaller-scale mechanisms of _Alpha Rayade_ – those that would actually fit inside one room. Their matching jackets were hanging up by the door, and they were both looking over what Bilbo guessed was a hydraulic pin for one of the Jaeger’s joints. It was big enough to take up the entire length of the table.

‘Hello,’ said Bilbo, stepping into the garage. Immediately both dwarves’ heads snapped up, eyeing him warily. Bilbo tried not to be hurt at the reaction. He and the brothers had been on good terms – friends, even, but they must now think that he was on Thorin’s side. Bilbo tried to ignore the swell of frustration at the fact that there were now _sides_.

‘I need to talk to the two of you,’ said Bilbo when neither of them offered him any sort of greeting. ‘It’s about Thorin.’

Fíli threw the instrument in his hand to one side, where it landed with a clatter. ‘I’ll save you the trouble, Bilbo – we don’t want to talk to him or about him.’

Bilbo shot him a glare. Perhaps it was his current state of tiredness, perhaps it was Lobelia’s prior warning – either way Bilbo threw away all sense of propriety and got straight to the point.

‘You have no idea how much he cares for you. Both of you,’ snapped Bilbo, and watched their faces as they reacted to his words. Talking of such private things was a breach of propriety in the extreme, especially with so little in the way of sensitivity, but he found himself at the end of his tether with the way their family feud was causing Thorin pain, and anyone with two eyes could see the way it was affecting Dís, no matter how tightly reigned in she kept her emotions. 

Kíli attempted a snort, looking down at his hands. His profile was tense and angry, his jaw set.

Fíli answered for both of them. ‘How he feels has little to do with it,’ he said.

‘No, I think it has _everything_ to do with it. Look,’ Bilbo said, changing track, ‘I know he hurt you. I know I’ll never understand what exactly happened between you three, even though I think I know the bare bones of it. I’m not asking you to forget that. All I’m asking is for you to...’

He trailed off, his eloquence gone. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he fought the urge to reach out and support himself on the nearest table.

‘Bilbo, you don’t-‘ said Fíli, but Bilbo spoke over him.

‘I saw it for myself,’ he said, ‘I _felt_ it. He still thinks of himself as your Uncle. ’

‘Then why did he _leave_ ,’ said Kíli quietly.

‘Kíli, he lost almost _everything_ ,’ Bilbo gently reminded.

‘So did we,’ Kíli shot back.

‘But you weren’t there to see it, were you?’ Bilbo chanced, and he knew he had his mark when the two of them looked away.

‘We should have been.’

‘Where were you?’

‘Here, in Ered Luin,’ said Fíli begrudgingly, as though the information was being forcibly drawn from him. ‘Training to be pilots, just like our mother and our Uncles.’

Bilbo blew out a breath. ‘Do you know what it did to him? Seeing Erebor go up in smoke?’ he said, stomach rolling. He at once felt a creeping cold seeping through his veins, and he shuddered. The wound left by Erebor’s destruction was a gaping, howling thing, an abyss of grief.

Bilbo was almost, almost on the verge of adding, _do you know what it did to him, experiencing his brother’s death?_ But he felt as though he would be stepping over a line that should not be touched – ever.

Kíli and Fíli were both silent. Neither of them looked happy, but at the very least they weren’t arguing with him anymore. Bilbo just hoped that they were listening.

‘We needed him after Erebor fell,’ said Fíli at length, ‘we needed him, but he just...wasn’t there, anymore.’

‘And then he _literally_ wasn’t there anymore,’ Kíli said, laughing humourlessly.

Something was brushing at the edges of Bilbo’s perception. The Drift had been an overload of information, almost overwhelming, and Bilbo was having difficulty differentiating one memory from the next. It was like attempting to tune a broken radio. But he concentrated fiercely for a moment, chasing the tail end of the ghost of a memory hovering at the edges of his mind, and was rewarded with a series of emotions as sharp and as focused as photographs. Dís, taking her brother’s hands into her own. Dís, wiping away the blood on his knuckles. Dís, daring to say, _you can’t go on like this_.

‘It was your mother’s idea,’ said Bilbo to himself, ‘she was the one who suggested it.’

‘Those aren’t your secrets to tell, Bilbo,’ Fíli said firmly, edges of his voice rough. ‘Even if she did, he shouldn’t have _stayed_ away.’

‘Grief can do terrible things to us. I know that doesn’t excuse it,’ sighed Bilbo, ‘I’m asking you, _please_ , just...ease up on him. He’s just a dwarf. He’s fallible. And the one thing that kept him going was his love for you two, and your mother. Just...please, think of that next time you see him.’

Before it’s too late, Bilbo thought. He couldn’t stand to think of Kíli and Fíli going into the breach without saying goodbye to Thorin properly.

Kíli rose to his feet, looking as tired as Bilbo felt. He exchanged a look with his brother, and they appeared to agree to something between them.

‘We need to show you something,’ said Kíli, ‘come with us.’

Bilbo had no choice but to follow as Kíli and Fíli disappeared through a side door, leading Bilbo onto a dimly-lit gangway with only one door at the end of it. The door was alarmed – Kíli punched in a code quickly, and it swung open to reveal a much smaller garage.

Two escape pods lay side-by-side in the mostly-empty space. Bilbo raised his eyebrows at them, wondering what all the fuss was about, until Fíli leant over and sprung one open.

On the outside, they appeared to be nothing more than ordinary escape pods, but on the _inside_ -

‘Is that, is that...’ gasped Bilbo.

‘Mithril?’ completed Kíli, ‘yes, it is. The other’s similarly lined, too.’

‘So this is how you’re going to survive the bomb,’ said Bilbo through his shock. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the silvery glow of the metal, the way that it flowed and gleamed even in the low light.

‘We _hope_ this is how we survive the blast,’ corrected Fíli. ‘No one has any idea if it’ll stand up to a nuclear bomb going off at close range.’

‘Bilbo – do you know where this mithril came from?’ said Kíli, staring at Bilbo intently.

‘I don’t, no. I just know I’ve never seen so much in one place before.’ Bilbo couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from it. ‘Actually, I’ve never seen any outside of a history book.’

‘We melted down our heirlooms,’ said Fíli quietly. ‘Do you know what that means? We melted down our _treasure_. Our _history_. Crowns and armour and artefacts – all of it, gone forever. Just to ensure that we have even a small chance of surviving.’

‘But I thought...Erebor was destroyed?’

‘When war first broke out, they moved many historical artefacts away from highly populated areas. Big vaults, deep underground,’ said Fíli.

‘They must have hoped that the heart of our cultures, at least, would survive, even if our cities didn’t.’

‘We didn’t even ask for it,’ Fíli said hollowly, ‘when mum presented the idea of a bomb to what was left of our government, hoping for funding, the word got out. Most of the mithril you see here came from the vaults, but the rest came from individuals and families. It wasn’t just Lords and Ladies from old, noble Dwarven Lines who responded - ordinary Dwarves, too, gave what little was left. Trinkets, rings, tiny little earrings with a drop of mithril in them.’

‘The Humans gave us everything they had from _their_ vaults,’ said Kíli, picking up the thread of the narrative, ‘I think Aragorn helped – he still has a lot of sway. It wasn’t much. We’ve managed to keep a hold of most of the mithril over the centuries. But it still counted. And the Elves. Even the Elves gave us...gave us necklaces and bracelets – beautiful things, Bilbo, _breathtaking_. We’ve forgotten how to even _make_ things like that anymore.’

There was a strange sense of grief to the both of them as they spoke of this, and Bilbo knew he would never understand even as he ached with sympathy.

‘But...I thought the Last Alliance had given up on the Jaeger programme?’ said Bilbo, uncomprehending.

‘They have,’ said Kíli.

‘But they don’t speak for everyone,’ said Fíli.

Bilbo took this in. He reached out with one hand and ran a fingertip over the mithril. It was a smooth as silk and pleasantly cool. ‘So, does everyone know about the bomb, then? I thought it was a secret.’

Kíli shrugged. ‘It’s not been in the news, yet. Most of the mithril-gathering was done secretly, by word of mouth.’

‘Personally,’ put in Fíli, ‘I think mum and Tauriel have both pulled strings to keep it out of the news. Arwen and Aragorn, too. It’s one thing it being known on a ground level, but being broadcast on TV?’ He shook his head. ‘I’ve no clue how people would react.’

Kíli stepped forward, arms crossed, glaring half-heartedly at Bilbo. ‘So forgive us if we’re a little concerned about this working,’ he said.

‘It’s amazing,’ said Bilbo, ignoring Kíli’s look. He felt strangely buoyed by what they had shown him, enough to say his next set of words without it hurting too much. ‘You don’t have to worry about me and Thorin anymore. We’ve been stood down.’

‘Bilbo, it’s not- we weren’t...worried about _you_ ,’ said Fíli hastily, and Kíli shifted uncomfortably beside him.

Bilbo barely heard him. His bed was calling to him. ‘Just think on what we’ve said, will you?’ he said to the two of them, making sure to look them both in the eye. ‘Just think on it. Thank you for showing me this.’

 

 

 

Bofur had forgotten how hot Ered Luin was. It was supposed to be late autumn, it was supposed to be cold, but Bofur saw no sign of the coming winter in the packed, narrow streets. The press of people was almost overwhelming; having been at the base for so long he had gotten used to having his own space – here in the cobweb of alleyways and interconnecting bridges arching overhead Bofur could barely breathe, and he certainly couldn’t think. It was raining, a damp drizzle that couldn’t muster up a proper downpour, and no one seemed able to even glance in his direction. A sheen of sweat quickly broke out across his brow and down his neck; his thick coat was entirely unnecessary, and after a few minutes worth of uncomfortably tugging the sleeves up in an attempt to cool down, he gave up, took it off and shoved it into the hands of a young human huddled in a doorway.

His muscles wouldn’t stop shaking. Several times he had to lean against the nearest wall or support and take deep breaths until he no longer felt as though he was going to puke up his guts. He couldn’t think properly beyond finding their contact, and he kept flinching repeatedly as the ghost of claws shot through his mind. No one noticed.

He occasionally glimpsed the white arches of a Kaiju’s bones as he walked. The Kaiju remains had been picked clean, but the city had risen up around the bones, used them as supports for new houses embraced, them so well that only two of the rib bones were still completely visible. The symbolism was obvious to Bofur – as much as the Boneslums were hotbeds of poverty and crime, they were also a symbol of their resistance and resourcefulness, their ability to survive.

He forced his attention away from the metaphor and to the streets once more. At last, the light from the pen Dís had given him happened to glance off of a street sign, revealing a glowing blue symbol that matched up to the one on the card. Bofur’s thoughts sharpened, his focus returning, and, nearly gleeful, he darted in the direction of the arrow.

 

 

 

‘You talked to Kíli and Fíli,’ said Thorin, and Bilbo almost choked on his juice.

After he had stopped spluttering, Thorin held out a napkin for him, which Bilbo took to wipe down his front. Bilbo suspected that Thorin had waited until he was taking a sip of juice to say that.

‘I did, how did you-‘

‘I can still sense a little of what you’re feeling, and you're leaking guilt everywhere,’ said Thorin, and Bilbo wished he could feel even an iota of Thorin’s mood. The remains of their Drift had faded overnight, and now all Bilbo was left to go on was Thorin’s excellent poker face.

Bilbo let out a breath, hoping he hadn’t incurred Thorin’s wrath. ‘I did,’ he said warily, ‘I’m sorry if that was...if I was stepping over the mark.’

‘It was,’ said Thorin, ‘but.’ He stopped, and looked up at _Orcrist_ , considering his words. ‘Thank you,’ he said at length, ‘for trying.’

Bilbo was almost certain that Thorin’s reaction would have altogether different, had they not Drifted. Was it artificial, this sense of closeness? Bilbo had gotten the distinct impression from the moment they had first met that Thorin was an intensely private dwarf. All of his kind was, but Thorin seemed to take it to a new level. Opening up to Bilbo, sharing every shade of memory with him – Bilbo had to wonder what affect it was having on their burgeoning friendship, for better or worse.

He swung his legs back and forth over the gantry edge. Their respective welcomes at the Mess that morning had been less than friendly - nearly destroying the base could do that to your reputation – and so by mutual agreement they’d decided to take breakfast at the balcony overlooking _Orcrist Sting_. Bilbo couldn’t help but think that they were both a little bit masochistic, to be comfortably sitting and looking at something that was no longer theirs.

‘I had hoped...’ started Bilbo. He paused, looked past _Orcrist_ to the other end of the hangar, to where a second Jaeger was also being worked on. ‘I had hoped that Legolas and Gimli would take that Jaeger, over there. It’s nearly finished. I don’t think it’s been fitted with armour yet.’

Thorin put aside his half-eaten toast. ‘Maybe it still will be,’ he said, ‘there’s still time.’

Bilbo blew out a breath, watching as Thorin turned his head and another strand of hair came loose from his half-hearted ponytail. 

‘I meant what I said. I still want to pilot _Orcrist_ with you,’ said Bilbo, looking at _Orcrist_ once more. ‘If Dís changes her mind,’ he added.

He could feel Thorin looking at him, but he didn’t let his eyes slip from _Orcrist_. After a long moment Thorin said,

‘You’re a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?’

‘Says you,’ shot back Bilbo, and Thorin acknowledged this with a half-smile.

‘I should have warned you. I just hadn’t realised how strong the Drift would be.’

‘I don’t think even Dís saw it coming,’ shrugged Bilbo. ‘There was nothing you could do. For my part, I’m...I’m sorry I got caught up in what happened.’

‘You needn’t apologise,’ said Thorin, and when Bilbo said nothing to this he pushed against Bilbo slightly with his shoulder. Thorin was very warm, and Bilbo wondered idly if Dwarves naturally had a higher body temperature.

‘That was Dís’ and her partner’s last mission,’ said Thorin, clearly hoping that he could use Bilbo’s curiosity to steer him away from gloomy thoughts. Bilbo knew exactly what he was doing, but he let himself be played.

‘I don’t mean to pry,’ said Bilbo, ‘but who _was_ Dís’ partner? I thanked Dís for what she did for me that day, but I need to thank her co-pilot, too.’

‘That’s not my secret to tell,’ said Thorin with a deliberate air of mystery.

‘Oh, come on,’ pleaded Bilbo, ‘I won’t tell anyone.’ At Thorin’s amused quirk of the brow he added, ‘I could find out in the Drift.’

‘If you do, you didn’t hear it from me,’ said Thorin, giving him a side-long look.

Still so many secrets, mused Bilbo, even in spite of the Drift. Was it little wonder, though, that he was curious? All three siblings had been Rangers officially, but Dís’ partner had never been revealed to the public. Most had simply assumed it was her husband - Kíli and Fíli’s father - but Bilbo couldn’t see a reason to conceal it if it was.

Thorin’s lips had quirked up into a half-smile again. Bilbo became aware that he had been tracking the subtle movements of Thorin’s mouth for the last five minutes. He quickly looked away, willing his cheeks not to flood with heat.

‘Gimli and that elf will be being tested now,’ Thorin said.

Bilbo rearranged the cutlery on his tray of untouched food, putting them into neat lines. ‘I know,’ he said, ‘I don’t think I can-‘

An alarm began to sound in the distance, and Bilbo tensed. He could hear it quickly spreading to every single part of the Base, corridor by corridor, until it reached them in the hangar. It was the alarm specifically reserved for incoming Kaiju. Protocol stated that pilots were supposed to report to the Command Centre for instructions, but Thorin and Bilbo weren’t pilots any more.

He turned and met Thorin’s gaze. As one they rose and headed towards the Command Centre.

 

 

 

Bofur had read the dossier on their mysterious funder on the way over to Ered Luin. No name had been given, but Bofur had built up a pretty good idea of the man. He imagined him to be a human, or perhaps even an elf – the Elves were not as above such things as they believed they were – perhaps ex-military, someone who could easily command legions of black-market workers.

He hadn’t expected a dwarf in a suit so sharp Bofur was afraid he might cut himself if he looked at him too quickly.

‘Are you in charge, here?’ said Bofur. He had been distracted by the Kaiju parts when he had first entered the chamber, but now he was intensely aware of the fact that the door behind him was closed, and he was surrounded on all sides.

‘Who wants to know?’ asked the dwarf, gliding forwards to stand a bare foot away from Bofur, looming into his space, expression unfathomable behind his sunglasses. Bofur took note of the fact that the dwarf had plaited his eyebrows. His _eyebrows_. He tried to suppress a giggle.

‘I’ve been sent by a mutual friend,’ Bofur whispered, unsure as to how much he should be giving away. Covert operations were not his remit.

‘Marshall Dís,’ said the dwarf flatly.

Well, so much for that. ‘Yes,’ said Bofur, ‘and, uh – who are you?’

Bofur had the distinct impression the dwarf was rolling his eyes at him.

‘Name’s Nori,’ was all he said, ‘and you’ve five seconds to tell me what you’re doing here before I throw you off the balcony.’

 

 

 

Gimli and Legolas were already in the Command Centre, as were Arwen and Aragorn. Legolas, Bilbo saw, was clearly out of breath, and he had the most disgruntled look on his face that Bilbo had ever seen on an elf. Gimli beside him looked a little dazed, but it was mixed with a good dose of pride. They were both still in their training gear, fresh from their test if the sweat that was running down Gimli’s nose was any indication. Bilbo didn’t bother to hide his smile, but his expression faltered when he saw that Kíli and Fíli were on the other side of the room, looking directly at their mother, clearly ignoring Thorin and Bilbo.

Dís gave Bilbo and Thorin a perfunctory glance, resigned to their presence, and settled into her usual place in front of the personnel.

‘We have a double event,’ she told them, and then had to raise her voice over the resulting wave of noise her news generated, ‘two Category four Kaiju are heading directly for Ered Luin, codenames Bolg and Azog. We are now faced with a choice. We either keep our Jaegers in reserve for the final assault on the Breach, or we go all out and hope that we can take both down quickly and with little damage to our Jaegers.’

Bilbo sucked in a breath. Beside him Thorin had gone very still. Surely Dís couldn’t have been suggesting that they let Ered Luin be destroyed.

Dís zeroed in on Arwen and Aragorn, eyes sharp and voice steady. ‘ _Dúnedain Evenstar_ , you are to engage the Kaiju as they breach,’ she said, and Bilbo exhaled noisily. ‘You are to take them down with extreme prejudice.’ Dís flicked her eyes over to her sons, who straightened under her attention. ‘ _Alpha Rayade_ , you are to act their right flank so that the Kaiju do not create a pincer movement around _Evenstar_. Remember that we need you to carry the bomb. I want your best today, do you understand? You _cannot_ allow them to damage _Rayade_. You are the priority.’

She paused, let both teams acknowledge her instructions. ‘Good,’ she said, ‘report to your technicians immediately.’

It was Legolas and Gimli who held Dís’ attention next. She very carefully did not look in Thorin and Bilbo’s direction. ‘You two, good work today. You are to remain on standby until I tell you otherwise.’

A hole opened up in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach.

‘Everyone else,’ Dís was saying, but Bilbo could no longer hear her, ‘to your posts!’

 

 

 

The warning sirens sounded just as Lobelia got out of her taxi. The reaction amongst the population was instant and dramatic – every Human, Elf and Dwarf on the street turned as one towards the end of the street, pouring out of houses and shops and side alleys, scurrying along in what appeared to be a calm fashion, but Lobelia knew to be thinly-veiled panic. Her taxi sped off without even bothering to close the door.

For a few precious moments she stood there, uncomprehending, clutching her umbrella in one hand and staring at the flow of people. She snatched the tail-end of a conversation as a group of young Dwarves all but ran by.

‘They saying there’s _two_ -‘ said a dwarf, and that was all that Lobelia needed to spur her into action.

Two. She loved being right, but at that moment there was no sense of victory, of vindication. She just felt numb. Hugging her umbrella tightly, she followed the crowd towards the shelter.

 

 

 

 _Evenstar_ was one of the oldest Jaegers in existence, but it was also one of the best. It had an outstanding mission record – not as good as _Rayade_ ’s, of course, but Arwen and Aragorn were some of the most skilled Pilots to ever step into a cockpit, with an extensive battle history. Coupled with _Rayade_ , the fastest, most powerful Jaeger ever built, they were a force to be reckoned with.

They were losing.

Bilbo watched, every muscle in his body tensed and straining, as the Kaiju Azog side-swiped _Evenstar_ , knocking the Jaeger completely off balance and into the snapping, waiting jaws of Bolg. Bilbo breathed shallowly through his nose. His stomach felt as though it was full of brambles, and his eyes were watering from staring unwaveringly at the screen without blinking. 

But _Evenstar_ was not alone, and was saved from another blow by _Rayade_ forcibly wrenching Bolg away and landing a deep hit into the Kaiju’s side with its retractable arm blades.

‘Marshall, they’ve punched through _Evenstar_ ’s main relays,’ said Tauriel from her position at the head of the command centre. ‘I’m rerouting their power remotely, but they’ll be in trouble if they don’t-‘

On screen, they watched as Azog warded off _Evenstar_ ’s counter-attack by simply ripping through the arm altogether. _Evenstar_ let out a huge burst of energy from its other gauntlet, connecting with the side of Azog’s skull, attempting to strike the Kaiju’s temple. Bilbo knew the move would have had to have drained a massive amount of their remaining power.

The great skull of Azog snapped to one side for a bare second before the Kaiju whipped back around and leapt completely onto _Evenstar_ ’s torso, sharp claws digging into the Jaeger’s shoulders, using its sheer weight to drag the Jaeger under the churning surface of the sea.

Rescue by _Rayade_ would not be forthcoming. Kíli and Fíli were fighting tooth and nail to get to _Evenstar_ , but Bolg was keeping them fully occupied.

 _Come on_ , willed Bilbo, _please_. _Evenstar_ would break the surface again. It had to.

 

 

 

The hull was buckling. Three puncture wounds had already compromised their cockpit. Her green console screen was awash with red blinking lights and several furious, pained alarms were sounding. All unnecessary – Arwen could hear _Evenstar_ screaming in her head.

Aragorn was in motion beside her even as the churning water flooded into the cockpit and splashed over their feet. He brought up _Evenstar_ ’s left arm to grip the jaw of the Kaiju, and half a second later she slammed the right arm across its jaw. It had little effect. One last, futile effort – but she was glad they’d managed it.

The water was up to her neck. Her gloved fingers trembled as they danced across controls, searching for something – _anything_ \- that could help them. But then came the sound of the Kaiju’s teeth scraping across the top of the cockpit, trying to get some purchase on the heavy metal armour, and the feedback from _Evenstar_ all but lashed out at them. She grit her teeth against the pain. The pressure on their cockpit increased to breaking point, and Arwen sensed through her connection with _Evenstar_ the exact moment when the Kaiju gutted their Jaeger, its claw tearing through _Evenstar_ ’s abdomen and chest. Arwen gasped and curled into herself as through the blow had been to her own body, and she felt Aragorn’s consciousness spark and flicker.

Seawater swirled up and over her shoulders. Aragorn, with the last of his strength, made an aborted move towards the controls for her escape pod, but his fingers never reached the switch. Through the Drift she felt the bright light of his mind slip into unconsciousness. They had mere moments before the Kaiju tore through what remained of the cockpit. Arwen unhooked herself from her harness. It took all of her strength to ignore the dark shadow sweeping over her mind, threatening to pull her under. Something hot was running down her side under her suit, but she ignored it; there was only one thought left in her mind now, and that was for the man in front of her. 

The light of their Jaeger spluttered and died, leaving her in the dark. In one last, desperate act she reached out towards Aragorn with mind and body, holding him close as the cockpit fell apart around them.

 

 

 

‘ _Dúnedain Evenstar_ down,’ announced Tauriel to the quiet room.

Bilbo couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen, from the spot in which _Evenstar_ had disappeared. He only realised he was gasping for breath when Thorin laid a hand between his shoulder blades, grounding him. Thorin’s eyes remained firmly on the live feed, which had flicked to _Alpha Rayade_ with a speed that Bilbo found cruel and dismissive.

When Bilbo felt like he could breathe normally again, Thorin’s hand slid from his back. With barely a thought and with no other motive than to provide Thorin with an anchor, Bilbo reached out and tangled his hand with Thorin’s, holding it tight enough that he would have left bruises, had Thorin been a Hobbit. 

They now had to hope that that _Alpha Rayade_ could take down two Kaiju.

Thirty seconds later, the EMP wave rocked the Comms room, plunging them into darkness.

Bilbo could hear the engineers scurrying about and cursing, trying to understand the problem, trying to find the solution, and to his right Gimli and Legolas were whispering furiously to each other –

‘Let me at them. Let me at them _right now_ , I don’t even need a Jaeger-‘

‘Yes, because rescuing one more dwarf is _exactly_ what we need-‘

‘My _friends_ are out there-‘

‘And they’re not going to _die_ , not tonight-‘

-But Bilbo and Thorin only had eyes for Dís.

Dís, who had turned to face them, half-hidden in shadow, the line of her mouth unforgiving and stern.

‘Go,’ she said.

 

 

 

Kíli could admit that he’d done a great many stupid things in his life, but shooting a Kaiju in the eye with a flare gun in the middle of a storm was probably going to the top of the list. The Kaiju Bolg reared back with a cry so loud that it had a physical force to it. Kíli yelled back at the top of his lungs. Fíli, beside him, eyed the trails of vapour left by the flare guns critically, and nodded with satisfaction. It had been a good shot.

Fíli just hoped that the news cameras had captured their last, ridiculous effort, but that their feed would suddenly and mysteriously cut out before Kíli and Fíli were killed. He hated the thought that their mother might see their deaths on TV.

Bolg recovered quickly, bringing his great head back around, rearing back, teeth flashing in the streak of lightning that lit the sky. Fíli hauled his brother close to him, arm around Kíli’s shoulders, straightening his spine, refusing to look away from his death.

A foghorn sounded, loud and challenging. Bolg aborted his attack. It cocked its head to one side and turned, creating huge waves that broke against _Alpha Rayade_.

Kíli and Fíli peered past the bulk of Borg. They could hear the familiar beat of Jumphawk helicopters.

The perfectly round, red glow of a Jaeger engine pierced the storm-ridden night, throwing light onto the unmistakable outline of _Orcrist Sting_.

 

 

 


	7. Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely Rhydwin (shaerahaek on tumblr) has drawn [this](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/59613046890/pacific-rim-hobbit-crossover) and [this](http://shaerahaek.tumblr.com/post/59696713433/another-pacific-rim-the-hobbit-crossover-pic-for), go take a look! They're both excellent (Bilbo in his suit, ahhh!), thank you very much!
> 
> This chapter grew so long that I've had to split it into two chapters, so there's now two more chapters to go, not one. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to elvenarchress for pointing out the mistakes in the previous chapters!

By the time _Orcrist_ ’s anchor lines were cut and the Jaeger sent plunging into the sea, Bilbo was all but champing at the bit to get going. 

_Orcrist_ stood tall, striding forwards through the roiling waters, waves breaking against its legs, her pilots perfectly in sync. Bilbo and Thorin’s Drift had remained steady and strong on the way over, and now, as the Kaiju Bolg turned its attention towards them, Bilbo could feel the rush of heightened anticipation from Thorin, thrumming through their link. 

Kíli and Fíli are out there, Bilbo thought, utterly defenceless. But not for long. Not if they could help it.

Bilbo was not prepared for the explosion his promise invoked. A terrible roar of rage and burning hatred, bound up in fierce protectiveness surged through the Drift, so sudden and strong that Bilbo flinched bodily, gasping for air. In front of him, his console registered the spike in his heart rate, giving a little beep in warning.

The howling bloodlust dimmed, and shame and regret beat through the link.

 _I am sorry,_ said Thorin, _I’ll try and-_

 _No! It was just a little sudden_ , said Bilbo, mentally taking a hold of Thorin’s retreating presence in his mind. _Don’t do that - we can’t fight with you holding back,_ he said firmly, physically turning to look at Thorin in the cockpit, Thorin turning his head just enough to meet his eyes. The storm beat down on _Orcrist_ , relentless, and Bilbo heard the rumble of thunder through the sensors.

_We could use it. It’s not a bad thing._

Thorin’s trepidation was plain to see on his face. _Are you sure?_

 _I am. Don’t hold back. Trust me,_ Bilbo said, heart thumping with nerves, but trying to show the depth of his conviction through his eyes, flooding his mind with it until the fear was tucked away in one corner. For a split second, Thorin’s emotions were held in check, and then - just as he had in Dís’ office - Bilbo felt Thorin loosen his hold. This time when the rage came, Bilbo was ready for it.

It was still overwhelming. It still felt like he was stood in the path of a hurricane, blood burning in an echo of Thorin’s anger. But Bilbo kept his head and rose up to meet it, embraced it, because this was a part of Thorin, too, and he’d spoken the truth – they could use this. All it needed was a little focus, and Bilbo could provide that.

Moments later, when Bolg bared its teeth and roared, leaping forward with a speed such a large creature should not be able to achieve, _Orcrist_ was there to meet it with the strength to match.

 

 

 

Being unceremoniously thrown out onto the street by Nori’s goons was had hardly been at the top of his to-do list that day, but Bofur took it in his stride, getting to his feet quickly and hurrying for the nearest shelter, barely sparing a thought for Nori’s unkindness beyond the thought that the dwarf’s secret bunker would surely have room for just one more person.

The doors to the public shelter were closing, but Bofur slipped through before the stern human attendant heaved it shut. It was icy cold inside the shelter, but it was quickly warming up from the amount of people all squeezed into one space.

Bofur put his arms around himself and kept his head down. It was deathly quiet – not even the young children and infants uttered a sound, as if the slightest whimper would provoke the all-too real monster that was bearing down on them. 

As one mass they waited with baited breath. Waiting for a sound, any sound, from the world above that might tell them what was happening. Humans, Elves, Dwarves – even a couple of Hobbits in the far corner. A few were clutching at shopping bags, or things that they’d grabbed in their haste to leave their homes – Bofur saw with some amusement that an elderly dwarf to his left was hugging a desk lamp. Others were clinging to each other in family groups, friends standing close, couples hiding their faces in each other’s necks. Sweeping his eyes over the crowd, Bofur was painfully reminded of how alone he was. He thought of his brother and cousin, safe back at the refugee camps, and Lobelia, tucked up in the K-science labs, and with a sudden rush of feeling Bofur was glad of his loneliness.

A young woman, cradling a tiny baby in the crook of her arm, was stood huddled against one of the support struts. Her cheeks glinted with tears in the dim overhead lights, her face pale and washed out, screwed up in distress. She was wearing a furry dressing gown, and it was clear that she’d left the house in a rush, barely enough time to wrap something warm around the squirming child in her arms. Bofur, thinking of his tiny young nephews, started forward, but a male elf got there first, offering her a flask from his leather satchel. On the woman’s other side an elderly female dwarf, with a sleeping infant strapped to her chest, offered the woman the use of her spare carry crib.

A deep boom shook the shelter, dislodging dust from the ceiling. A few people made soft, quiet sounds of distress, quickly cut off. Another boom, louder this time, and they rocked backwards with it, those frail and unsteady on their feet losing their balance altogether. The overhead strips of light flickered and surged. Bofur’s heart almost stopped beating altogether. His quick mind was racing with Nori’s sly words. _The Drift is a two way system,_ Nori had snapped, _did you really think you were the only one that got the information you wanted?_

Bile burned at the back of Bofur’s throat, and he barely registered the third, dull impact. _Getting closer,_ observed the part of Bofur that was still able to think above his distress, _almost on top of us. It’s looking for something. Or someone._

 _It’s all my fault,_ despaired Bofur as cracks began to appear in the ceiling. _They’re coming for_ me.

 

 

 

 _Orcrist_ turned its head towards the city of Ered Luin, away from where the smoking remains of Bolg’s carcass lay scattered across the docks.

 _One down..._ Bilbo thought, and at last, Thorin’s rage dimmed, mixing with soft waves of relief. Kíli and Fíli were safe. _Rayade_ would keep them dry and warm until the Jumphawk helicopters came to bear them away, or the Base reset their systems – whichever came first. Whatever happened now, they at least knew that Kíli and Fíli were no longer in immediate danger.

Thorin brushed against his mind, turning his attention towards a huge oil tanker that was sat in a dry dock.

 _I like your thinking,_ grinned Bilbo through their link, and together they heaved the ship off out of its supports, setting off for the city in long, effortless strides, the oil tanker throwing up sparks as it was dragged along behind them.

As they walked, a thought passed through Bilbo’s mind, and, high off of their recent victory, he laughed.

 _What is it?_ asked Thorin curiously as they walked _Orcrist_ towards their second adversary.

Bilbo brought the evening of his Birthday to the forefront of his mind, showing Thorin the argument between Fíli and Gimli, and was rewarded with a golden thread of amusement humming through the Drift.

 _Fíli would laugh if he could see us now,_ Bilbo said.

He could sense Thorin considering it. _We’re almost there, but not quite,_ Thorin said, _if only we were holding hands – it would complete the picture._

If it was possible to stare at someone through the Drift, then Bilbo was certainly giving it a good go. His mind had stalled, and he could feel Thorin’s rich, warm good humour at catching Bilbo off-guard. Bilbo had only a split second to splutter to himself, _did he just_ flirt _with me?_ before they heard a distant roar coming from the heart of Ered Luin, and they both had to turn their minds towards tracking Azog’s trail of destruction.

 

 

 

In the still-dark of the Command Centre, Dís and Tauriel were pouring over maps of Ered Luin in an attempt to understand where the second Kaiju had gone, and why, and what the potential fall-out might be. The Comms Room’s usual roster of staff members had been bolstered by an influx of engineers, all of them working as hard as they could to restore full power to the Base and reset their systems. Thanks to the emergency back-up generators, electricity had been restored to the Base’s most important functions, but their helicopter crews had not been so lucky. The EMP wave had hit their individual radios and short circuited them, and as a result they had been reduced to communicating through slow light signals, relayed across the bay. 

A flustered elf approached Dís respectfully, and Dís looked up from the map to hear his message.

‘Marshall,’ said the elf, licking his lips nervously, ‘We’ve...we’ve received word from the Jumphawks. They’ve pulled two bodies from the wreckage.’

Several staff members who were working closest to Dís began to surreptitiously eavesdrop on their conversation.

‘And?’ demanded Dís when the elf did not continue.

‘They’re alive, Marshall, but barely, _barely_ ,’ said the elf in a rush, ‘they’ve both been badly wounded. They’re on their way over now.’

Tauriel let out a hissed breath, passing a hand over her eyes.

‘Send a runner to the medical wing and tell them to prepare for their arrival,’ said Dís, ‘tell them they’ll need to prep for theatre as soon as that helicopter touches down. We’ll need a full medical team on the landing pads immediately. No,’ corrected Dís, thinking about it for a moment, ‘put as many teams on the pads as can be spared.’

‘Yes Marshall!’ said the elf, and he quickly made his way towards the exit.

Dís ignored the whoops and cheers of her staff as the news was relayed around the room. Instead she looked towards Tauriel, waiting patiently for her second-in-command to recover her composure. She did not have to wait long; after a moment, Tauriel turned her face back to the maps in front of them, her expression carefully neutral. She glanced up at Dís and Dís gave her a small smile. They both knew that, even if Arwen and Aragorn survived the ride back to the Base, it was too early to celebrate. The night was far from over, and it was too much to hope that there would be no further casualties by the time morning came.

 

 

 

Bofur had never seen a Kaiju in the flesh. He’d seen plenty of Kaiju broken down into their composite parts, bottled up and all but dead, and he’d seen Kaiju on the news and in recordings, but never up close. He’d always wanted to, even if he knew, logically, that there was no other way to see a Kaiju than in battle. His mother had always told him that his curiosity would get him killed. She would never know how right she was.

When the Kaiju had turned its attention away from him, distracted if only for a split second, Bofur had taken his chance and run, as fast as he could, in the opposite direction, and he hadn’t looked back even for a second. The weight and presence of the Kaiju was like a weight as his back, pushing him onwards, faster and faster, terror choking his lungs and blind panic wiping his mind utterly free of thought.

There came the sound of a foghorn, and Bofur would know that sound anywhere – every Jaeger came with its own unique warning siren, and Bofur had heard this one plenty of times back in the Base to know who it belonged to: _Orcrist Sting_.

It was familiar enough to cut through his fear, to slow his feet to a walk, and Bofur gathered the tattered remains of his courage to turn at chance a glance at the battle that was about to unfold.

Common sense would have dictated that Bofur take this opportunity to keep running, to run until he couldn’t run a moment longer, as long as he was as far away as possible from the battle of monsters taking place before his very eyes. But common sense could go and hang for all Bofur cared – this was extraordinary, and his curiosity burned through him until he had no choice but to stay and observe, to study.

 _Orcrist_ , he noticed, was holding its own – barely. It was clear even from where Bofur stood – a considerable distance from the battle – that the Jaeger had taken quite a few hits already and, well, would you look at that, the Kaiju was spitting _venom_ , so acidic it melted the side of a skyscraper in seconds, _Orcrist_ dodging the spray just in time. Bofur’s mind was turning over how such a potent acid could be created by a living organism when several things happened in quick succession.

The Kaiju curled its tail around _Orcrist_ ’s arm, constricting so tightly Bofur could see rents appearing in the armour. _Orcrist_ responded by dumping its coolant, freezing the tail and, reaching in to the Kaiju’s maw, tore the Kaiju’s tongue from its mouth.

Good move, approved Bofur, but he had scarcely completed the thought before the Kaiju unleashed something neither he, nor the pilots of _Orcrist Sting_ could have ever seen coming - a set of webbed wings burst from its front arms, and with a screech the Kaiju leapt on the Jaeger, bearing it up, up and up into the night’s sky.

‘Well, shit,’ said Bofur aloud to the empty, eerie streets of Ered Luin. He titled his head back to track the progress of the two. The enormity of what he had just seen filtered through his astonished mind after a good full minute. ‘ _Shit_ ,’ he said again, but more decisively.

Bilbo was up there, along with Dís’ brother. Every inch of Bofur quailed at the thought of his friend in the clutches of the Kaiju, but Bofur was dwarf enough to admit – at least to himself – that deep, deep down he was praying that above all else the Kaiju brain remained intact if it fell back to earth.

 

 

 

Up in the sky above Ered Luin, _Orcrist_ twisted and grappled with the Kaiju, searching for an opening, her great fists pummelling the weak spots in the Kaiju’s armour. Nothing was working.

A litany of Khuzdul curses served as background noise as Thorin and Bilbo fought.

Bilbo swung another uppercut towards the underside of Azog’s belly, but it was difficult to put any sort of power behind their punches when they were dangling in the air. His and Thorin’s minds were both racing with ideas, their thoughts coming so fast and furious that they had discussed and rejected three different plans by the time Bilbo had landed the hit. The readings on the console were off the charts, and if they didn’t act soon, they would lose all power, and their fight would be lost.

Determination surged through their link from both sides. It was getting hard to breathe, but they weren’t done yet.

 _Do we have anything left?_ said Thorin, but even as he thought it, their respective minds were lit up with one last option. Bilbo would never know who had had the idea first. It was a long shot – they had little manoeuvrability to speak of, and no guarantee that the weapons would work on the Kaiju’s thick, armour-plated hide. If they attempted this, it would be their last move.

Thorin’s conviction burnt through the Drift. _Let’s do it,_ he said, and Bilbo needed no further prompting.

Bilbo reached out with his spare hand and activated the weapon on his console screen. From _Orcrist_ ’s left wrist extended a wickedly sharp, short blade. Thorin and Bilbo heaved _Orcrist_ to one side, giving them as much space as could be allowed in the Kaiju’s punishingly tight grip. With a yell Bilbo summoned all of his strength to drive the blade home into the Kaiju’s side. The blade slid through soft tissue, piercing a weak point in the Kaiju’s side, Bilbo flicking his wrist sharply to make sure the blade was firmly lodged.

The Kaiju screamed, its retaliation swift, savagely biting down onto _Orcrist_ ’s shoulder, but its wings faltered for a moment, and as it turned to attack _Orcrist_ it left its side wide open for Thorin.

 _That’s Sting,_ said Bilbo.

 _And now for Orcrist,_ said Thorin. 

A second, larger blade flew from the Jaeger’s right arm. Lightning-fast, Thorin swung the sword up and around, hurtling towards the Kaiju with their combined strength, Thorin and Bilbo snarling out a battle cry together as the blade sliced through the Kaiju’s body, cutting Azog completely in half.

They were free, but Bilbo and Thorin only had a moment to bask in their hard-won victory. They were falling, and falling fast. They both knew the truth without having to express it, or from looking at their read-outs – unless they slowed their descent, _Orcrist_ would be destroyed.

 _I don’t particularly want to be a Hobbit pancake_ , laughed Bilbo with an edge of hysteria-fuelled panic.

It was Thorin’s turn to reach out, his presence wrapping around Bilbo’s mind, steadying him with his unshakable focus, and Bilbo’s panic dulled. 

There was no time to thank Thorin. The speed of their fall pressed against Bilbo’s chest until he couldn’t draw a full breath, only shallow, faint gasps. His organs felt as though they were being pushed back towards his spine, and raising his arm to reach the console took such an effort that Bilbo almost blacked out from it. But he persisted, fingers brushing feather-light over the controls, and beside him Thorin was gritting his teeth against the force, jaw clenched so tight it was causing him physical pain. As one they loosened the shock absorbers and shifted _Orcrist_ into a spread-eagle stance to increase their drag.

But they were still coming in too fast. The storm over Ered Luin was a like a grey wall rising up in front of them, and Thorin, in abstract thoughts more than words, whispered _hold on, hold on – this is going to hurt_ , followed by a series of images in quick succession, suggestions to slow their fall: the gyroscope, curling up into a ball once they broke the cloud cover and then – then they would simply have to hold on, and hope. 

Bilbo hurried to comply. _Orcrist_ hit the storm and the roar was deafening, louder than anything he’d ever heard. Gyroscope set, Bilbo and Thorin curled up, _Orcrist_ following their movements, and Bilbo screwed his eyes tightly shut, not daring to look at the land and sea below.

 _Let’s just hope we don’t hit anything important_ , said Thorin, with black humour, _Dís will make me pay for it out of my wages_. Bilbo couldn’t help but snort in laughter.

It was the last thought that either of them had before they hit.

 

 

 

‘I want eyes on them, right now, get the Jumphawks over there,’ snapped Tauriel to the radio team, ‘why aren’t they over there already? What use is it to have one so far away? Give me the radio, pass it over-‘

Tauriel didn’t move from her spot beside Dís, even as the technician passed her the radio. In the last five minutes they had managed to establish a radio link with the lead helicopter out in the bay. This had been a small victory for the engineers on the base. The pilot might soon be not so thankful.

Dís tuned out Tauriel’s tirade to the pilot, focused instead on the one screen that was showing the shaky, blurry feed of the descent of _Orcrist Sting_. Tauriel aside, all other movements in the room had ceased, everyone’s attention fixed solely on the Jaeger falling like a meteor from the sky.

‘Come on, brother,’ murmured Dís under her breath, ‘not tonight. Come _on_.’

 

 

 

Inside the cockpit of _Orcrist Sting_ , silence reigned for several long minutes, and Bilbo could hear nothing beyond the sound of his own breathing and the steady purr of _Orcrist_ ’s engines.

He let out a giddy whoop. They were alive, They were _alive_.

Thorin was grinning outright beside him, the sight of it enough to send Bilbo’s heart racing in an altogether different way, adrenaline and relief a heady rush, his limbs shaking uncontrollably.

‘Where did we land?’ asked Thorin aloud.

They turned _Orcrist_ ’s head left and right, reaching out through the sensors and relays. They seemed to have landed on some sort of industrial estate, a warehouse if Bilbo was seeing it right through the dust. A building began to slowly emerge from the dust cloud to their right, and the strong, elegant lines of the unveiled architecture alerted them to the fact that this particular building was definitely not a warehouse, and that it had survived their impact with nothing more than a shower of debris.

 _Ered Luin Central Library_ read the sign above the door.

 _Thank Mahal_.

 _Thank goodness_ , thought Bilbo in exactly the same moment.

Thorin and Bilbo looked at each other, and Bilbo burst out laughing, Thorin following suit with his own, quieter chuckles. They were still laughing when Tauriel’s voice filtered through their Comms systems, asking them for a status report in an increasingly impatient tone.

 

 

 

Almost every member of staff had assembled in the hangar bay to welcome them home. The roar of noise hit Bilbo the very moment he emerged into the hangar, Thorin by his side. They were surrounded by well-wishers, a sea of happy faces, and Bilbo was glad of his armour for the amount of slaps he received on his back. Bilbo’s eyes, almost against his will, wandered back to Thorin, who was bearing it all with nothing more than a small smile, but Bilbo knew Thorin was full to the brim with a deep sense of satisfaction of a job well done, just as Bilbo was.

The crowd parted for Dís as she made her way towards them, her mouth curled up in a warm smile.

‘Rangers,’ she said aloud, and her formal greeting was allayed by the gratitude Bilbo could see in her dark eyes. ‘Good job.’ Then, addressing the staff, she said, ‘through the skill and hard work of everyone on this Base Ered Luin – the _world_ – still stands.’

A roar of approval went up at this, Bilbo joining in unreservedly. Dís waited patiently for them to quiet, her eyes shadowed and serious once more.

‘But there will be time to celebrate later,’ in her steady, unyielding voice. ‘We can be sure that the Kaiju _will_ retaliate, and soon,’ said Dís, slowly turning to take in all of her personnel. ‘We must take this chance. The bomb will be dropped within the next twelve hours.’

Bilbo felt his happiness splutter out like a candle in a high wind. Thorin’s handsome face had become stern and unforgiving once more, and Bilbo mourned the loss of his easy smile.

‘It has been a long night. A long war,’ Dís continued, flicking a glance in Thorin’s direction. ‘And I must ask more of you, now, for this last push. At last...at _last_ , it is time to take this fight to them. To your posts, everyone!’

There was a few shouted out, ‘yes, ma’ams!’ and a ripple of salutes, though salutes had not been used on the Base since their parting with the Last Alliance. The staff began to file out, faces grim and determined as they passed Bilbo.

Dís came to stand before them. ‘As for you two,’ she said with a hint of a smile, ‘rest. Right now.’

‘Marshall,’ said Bilbo, ‘Marshall, has there been any sign of-‘

‘Yes,’ said Dís heavily, ‘we pulled Arwen and Aragorn from the water not long after your were deployed. They’re critical, both of them. There’s not much you can do now, so _rest_. That includes you, brother.’

‘I would not dare to disobey the orders of my Marshall,’ said Thorin.

Dís narrowed her eyes at him. Thorin narrowed his eyes back. Bilbo wondered if they had once bickered as much as Kíli and Fíli do.

‘I should think not,’ said Dís with mock-haughtiness. She shook her head, and her look became touched with reverence, passing over Bilbo and Thorin as if seeing them in a new light. ‘Two Kaiju. Two.’

Bilbo ducked his head. He still couldn’t believe it himself.

‘We had a little help,’ he said.

‘Did they pout much, when they returned without a single kill?’ asked Thorin.

‘Only a little,’ Dís said, fighting a smile, ‘mostly they were more concerned about their Uncle falling out of the sky.’

Their link was still holding steady enough that Bilbo caught the full weight of that single sentence, like a punch to the gut. Outwardly, Thorin showed no sign of how it had affected him beyond raised brows. Inwardly, though, his emotions were blending together so quickly that Bilbo could barely keep up with them – relief, love, affection, relief again, and a sense of happiness so acute it felt as though it were piercing Bilbo’s chest. Bilbo, for his part, pushed as much of his own happiness for Thorin in his co-pilot’s direction. As distracted as Thorin was, Bilbo didn’t know if he had picked up on any of it, but it was the thought that counted.

‘I have to obey my own orders now, and return to my post’ said Dís, her eyes glancing between Bilbo and Thorin, considering them in a way that made Bilbo shift uncomfortably as if caught doing something wrong. ‘Don’t make me say it again: _rest_ , for Durin’s sake. That’s your friend and your sister asking.’

She walked away, not waiting for a response, squeezing Thorin’s arm as she passed, leaving Bilbo and Thorin alone in the mostly-empty hangar. A question was forming in Thorin’s mind, and without thinking it, Bilbo answered before Thorin even had the chance to voice it.

‘No, I’m going to check in quickly at the hospital wing,’ he said, and smiled to see Thorin’s surprise.

‘No, it’s alright, I don’t need company. But thank you,’ said Bilbo as Thorin opened his mouth to attempt another question. Thorin’s brow furrowed, and he opened his mouth to try again. Bilbo beat him to it. ‘Yes, that’s _technically_ disobeying orders, but Dís didn’t specify a time for us to go to bed. Quite lax of her, really.’

Thorin’s expression was warring between amusement and annoyance, but amusement was winning. Bilbo bounced up and down on the balls of his feet and tried not to feel absurdly pleased.

‘You are infuriating, you know that?’ said Thorin, ducking his head and attempting to hide the curl of his mouth.

Bilbo could have brushed it off, could have said, _it’s a Hobbit trait, don’t you know?_ and left it there. But the night had made him bold, and so instead he looked Thorin dead on and said, ‘and yet, here we are.’

The edges of Thorin’s eyes creased, and there was warmth in his steady gaze and affection feeding through their link. Thorin wasn’t even bothering to attempt to hide it.

‘Here we are,’ said Thorin quietly, looking at Bilbo under his dark brows, and it was all too much. Thorin reached out and took Bilbo’s helmet from his hand, his gauntleted fingers brushing over Bilbo’s as he did so.

‘Go on,’ he said, ‘go and get unsuited. I’ll update the engineers on the damage to _Orcrist_.’

‘Are you ordering me to bed, too?’ said Bilbo shakily.

‘No, just pushing. Gently.’ He let out a little breath through his nose, ‘I’ll even be able to make sure you’re asleep.’

Bilbo shook his head, smiling. ‘Damn, I hadn’t thought of that,’ he said.

‘I’m picking up on some Hobbit tactics, you see,’ said Thorin.

Bilbo couldn’t help but laugh, and inwardly he was praying that Thorin couldn't sense the true extent of Bilbo's emotions, that he didn't know how deeply the vein of Bilbo's affection stretched.

‘I’ll have to get Lobelia to teach me some new techniques,’ he said, ‘thank you, for the, for the-‘ he gestured to the helmet. ‘See you in a few hours.’

‘Goodnight, Bilbo,’ said Thorin, and there was still that smile there, hidden away in the corners of his mouth.

Bilbo’s heart did a slow, painful back flip in his chest. _Oh,_ he thought to himself, _you are so far gone._

 

 

 

Aragorn and Arwen had been given a private ward, just for the two of them. This was standard procedure for injured pilots, and the medical wing contained many of these two bed, specifically-made rooms. No one could quite understand why, but pilots always, without fail, healed better when they were put within reach of each other during their recovery. It was the commonly held view that it was something to do with the deep bonds forged by the Drift, but they could only ever speculate. No one had ever been able to prove it.

There was no one on duty at the reception, and Bilbo was wondering if he should attempt to find Aragorn and Arwen’s room on his own when a voice floated over his shoulder.

‘They’re in surgery, Bilbo.’

Bilbo spun around, to see Tauriel sat on one of the waiting room chairs, a stack of paperwork at her side. Bilbo stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, before the meaning sunk in.

‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Any...any news?’

Tauriel shook her head. ‘No. We’ll know when they come out, but not before.’

If they come out, added Bilbo to himself, and immediately banished such a gloomy thought. The guilt, however, remained – he knew he should have more faith in Aragorn and Arwen.

‘Would you like to sit with me and wait?’ offered Tauriel, ‘though I’m not sure we’ll be seeing either of them any time soon.’

‘Yes, I will. Thank you,’ said Bilbo, sitting on the spare chair beside her. There was a clock on the wall opposite them, and Bilbo noticed with a huff that it had stopped. He turned back to Tauriel, and saw that she was scanning over an open file on her lap.

‘I didn’t realise you wore glasses,’ he blurted out.

‘Oh, yes,’ said Tauriel touching the frames, ‘I’d forgotten I was wearing them. The perils of doing far too much paperwork, I suppose.’

‘They suit you,’ said Bilbo, and she gave a little hum that was neither thanks nor disagreement. Bracing himself, he asked, very quietly, ‘what’s the damage?’

‘I don’t think I need to say that it’s bad,’ Tauriel said, closing her file, ‘their injuries are numerous. We are lucky they have such strong spirits, or we would have lost them already.’

She took a deep breath. ‘The worst of it is this: Aragorn’s right leg and right arm were both crushed, his right lung collapsed’ – here Bilbo gasped, his hand coming up to clench at the front of his shirt – ‘and as for Arwen...Arwen...’ Tauriel trailed off.

‘Tauriel?’ prompted Bilbo gently, though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear what she had to say.

‘She took the worst of it,’ said Tauriel, voice as cold as stone, ‘her back was broken, and we believe she has lost her Grace.’

‘Her back,’ choked out Bilbo, barely able to get the words out. His throat had all but closed up. ‘Will she be able to walk? Is she – is she _paralysed_?’

‘We have no way of knowing.’

‘That’s...that’s awful’ Bilbo breathed. ‘But I don’t understand – she lost her _Grace_?’ 

‘Yes,’ said Tauriel, and her green eyes - dulled by exhaustion - slid shut. ‘She is mortal, now.’

‘But - _how_? How is that possible?’

‘Drifting with a mortal,’ Tauriel said, turning to look at Bilbo once more, ‘we always suspected that it might have side-effects, if something were to go wrong. Even the act of Drifting itself, sharing your mind and soul as deeply as Arwen and Aragorn have...it has consequences.’

‘Is there any way-‘

‘No,’ said Tauriel sharply.

Bilbo’s insides twisted and constricted. He couldn’t comprehend what such a loss would do to Arwen, should she survive – he was more concerned by her broken spine. But Tauriel - Tauriel would understand Arwen’s loss. The image of Arwen and Tauriel, heads bent together, laughing breathlessly over their hot chocolates, flashed through Bilbo’s mind.

‘Are you still on duty?’ he asked into the ensuing silence.

Tauriel snorted through her nose. ‘No,’ she said with a small smile, ‘the Marshall told me to get an of hours worth of rest, while I still could.’

‘Asked...or ordered?’

‘Ordered,’ Tauriel said, smile becoming wry. ‘I tried to tell her that I was fine, but she said-‘

‘We don’t do ‘fine’ around here,’ Bilbo said at the same time as Tauriel, and they shared an amused look.

An odd contradiction, Bilbo thought – to be ordered to rest so that you might do your duty, but be unable to catch a wink of sleep for the love of your friends. The quiet stretched out between him and Tauriel, not uncomfortable by any means, but too weighted by circumstance to put either of them completely at ease. But Bilbo, though removed from the Shire since he was seventeen, still had a gift for small talk, as all Hobbits do, and he couldn’t help but fill the silence with chatter to distract them both.

‘You’ve known Dís a long time, haven’t you?’ said Bilbo.

Tauriel favoured him with a shrewd look over the top of her glasses. ‘Did you glean that from the Drift, or did you figure that out yourself?’

‘A little of both,’ admitted Bilbo, ‘it wasn’t hard to guess, anyway – you seem very close.’

‘We are,’ said Tauriel easily, ‘I have known Dís for a long time.’

‘How did you meet?’

Tauriel shrugged. ‘Erebor was close to New Greenwood.’

‘Ah, of course,’ nodded Bilbo, although that hardly answered his question.

‘I was stationed at the Ereborean stronghold,’ added Tauriel.

Now _that_ was news to Bilbo. ‘So, you met through the Jaeger programme?’ he asked, but he had barely completed his question before Tauriel was shaking her head.

‘No,’ she said, ‘we knew each other before that. But do not look so shocked, Bilbo – Elves from New Greenwood often travelled to Erebor, whether for business or for other reasons. I myself met Dís at a Royal Ceremony,’ Tauriel gave a small chuckle. ‘It was so _dull_. We stood in a corner, tried to get as drunk as we could, complained about everyone else for the rest of the night and persuaded Frerin to ask inappropriate questions of all the guests.’ She smiled to herself, eyes warm with affection. ‘He was so _young_ , back then.’ 

Tauriel’s gaze re-focused, snapping back to Bilbo. ‘Is it really so surprising that Dwarves and Elves would mix?’

‘No, no – of course not,’ Bilbo said, abashed, ‘I’m sorry, I suppose I’m just used to Lothlorien. There were no Dwarves there, and no one seemed to want them there, either.’

Tauriel gave a little hum, tilting her head to one side. ‘The old divisions are still hard to bridge, even in these times,’ she said, ‘but the fact that Dís and I were already friends certainly helped when the Last Alliance proposed a collaboration between the two countries. A small envoy of Elves was sent from New Greenwood to the Ereborean Stronghold, and I was among them.’

Bilbo turned this over in his mind. He had seen Tauriel only once during either of the two Drifts, and he’d rather not dwell on such a memory for more than a moment if he could. He couldn’t recall seeing Tauriel anywhere else in Thorin’s memories – not to say that Tauriel was lying, of course, only that he was seeing things through Thorin’s eyes, not his sister’s, and it afforded him only a limited view of the past. But still, Bilbo found the lack of Tauriel’s presence in either of the Drifts surprising; from what Bilbo had seen of them, Dís and Tauriel hardly seemed to be apart for long. They were always together, and Tauriel had already stated that her trust in Dís’ judgement was absolute, and Tauriel seemed to be a rock to Dís...

Bilbo’s train of thought ground to a halt.

‘It was you,’ he said softly, wonderingly, ‘you were Dís’ partner.’

Tauriel smiled, eyes crinkling behind her glasses, and said, ‘you’re very astute, Bilbo.’

‘I thought...I thought Arwen and Aragorn were...’

‘We beat them by a week. I’ve never let Arwen hear the end of it,’ said Tauriel. She seemed thoroughly amused by Bilbo’s astonishment, and it was enough to chase away the pain and sadness in her eyes, if only for a moment.

‘But why, why cover it up?’ said Bilbo, still unable to grasp his discovery, ‘all this time I’ve been on the Base and I never knew. _Why_?’

Tauriel’s gaze slipped away from him, and she tapped her long fingers against the file on her lap. ‘I was a game, at first,’ she said, ‘we thought it was funny, to keep it a mystery, to keep them guessing. Vili – Dís’ husband – thought it was hilarious. He kept pretending to be oblivious to it all, deliberately misunderstanding all of the press’ questions. I was the one who suggested we keep it going. It was something to distract the population from what was happening. From the horror of it all. Dís agreed.’

‘How on Arda did you keep it a secret?’

Tauriel gave him a look over the top of her glasses. ‘Dwarf Base,’ she said.

‘Ah, of course,’ murmured Bilbo, but then frowned. ‘I’m sorry, but I still can’t believe you’d want to keep it a secret for that _long_.’

‘You don’t know what it was like, Bilbo,’ said Tauriel, ‘the level of exposure, the attention, the _fame_. Every inch of Thorin and Frerin and Dís’ life was poured over, and it was made worse because of their lineage. Thorin and Frerin bore the majority of it.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘I think Frerin enjoyed all the attention. But Dís and me...we just wanted to do our jobs.’

Bilbo took her in. He felt as though he were looking at her anew. 

‘What happened in Minas Tirith...I...I can thank you enough.’

He was treated to a long, hard look in return for his thanks. ‘We did our duty,’ Tauriel said firmly.

‘Still,’ said Bilbo, ‘you saved my life.’

‘And now you will save all of ours,’ said Tauriel with a shrug. The light glinted over the lenses of her glasses for a moment, and Bilbo blinked.

Something had been niggling at Bilbo since the start of their conversation, a thought that had kept itself at a distance - until now. Before, he hadn’t had the information to understand what was wrong, but with all of Tauriel’s revelations, it finally came to him. Realisation dawned on him slowly, a gradual shift from curiosity, to understanding, to outright dread. Tauriel’s glasses. He’d never seen an Elf wearing glasses before – their vision was perfect, and remained so over the course of their lifetime. It never changed. Her _glasses_.

‘Tauriel. Tauriel, are you...did you...’

She smiled, and it looked like it took a great deal of effort. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I am mortal.’

‘Tauriel...’

‘I went in to this battle knowing that it might lead to my end, that I might die fighting,’ said Tauriel, and she let out a soft, bitter laugh, ‘and now I find that I am to have a slow death.’

Bilbo could barely form his next question. Luckily, Tauriel caught his meaning well enough on her own.

‘That last battle in Minis Tirith – our core shielding was all but destroyed in the fight. We got a full blast of radiation, directly aimed at us. I bore the worst of it - it caused me to lose consciousness. Dís...Dís managed to stay awake long enough to take the damn thing down. But she came out of it with cancer. Not terminal, thank goodness – if she had been anything other than the hardy Dwarf she is, she might not have been so lucky to get away with just that.’

Cancer. That explained at least one of Thorin’s memories.

‘And after, I woke up, and I was mortal,’ said Tauriel matter-of-factly.

Bilbo stared at her lovely, strong profile, utterly lost for words.

‘Do you know how long we’d be able to pilot for?’ Tauriel continued, and Bilbo shivered to hear the anger in her voice, to see the aching grief lining her young face. ‘Ten minutes. Ten minutes in Jaeger would likely get us out of the Stronghold, nothing more. Ten minutes and we’d be dead. So now we have to be content with sitting on the sidelines, ordering loved ones into battle in our places.’

‘You are still fighting,’ Bilbo said firmly, and Tauriel turned her head to look at him. He almost flinched to see the helpless fury in her eyes, but he persisted, laying a hand on her forearm. ‘You’re still fighting alongside of us. You’re just using different weapons, nowadays.’

Tauriel let out a derisive snort, shaking her head sharply. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she said in a low, furious tone.

‘No, no I don’t. I just know we wouldn’t have gotten this far without you. Without both of you. Goodness, could you imagine this Base without you and Dís at the helm? Absolute chaos.’ Bilbo kept his voice light enough, but he accompanied it with a serious look, because it was true. They’d be lost without Dís and Tauriel.

For a second Bilbo thought Tauriel would pull away for him altogether and brush off his hand, turn to him and tell him to leave. But neither of them had enough energy to argue over it, and after a beat the fire in Tauriel’s eyes abated.

‘The world has changed so much in these last two centuries,’ she said softly. ‘It was so exciting. I had thought I might live to see...’ she trailed off, and put her hand over Bilbo’s. ‘Never mind,’ she said tightly, ‘it doesn’t matter. Not now, at least.’

She turned her face away, and Bilbo let her take a few moments. He would have been glad for the ticking of the clock to fill up the beats of silence.

After a long minute, Tauriel turned back to him. This time, when she smiled, it was a little more genuine. ‘You should get some rest, Bilbo. You’re to pilot a Jaeger in a few hours.’

But Bilbo stayed with her, brushing off her suggestion with a shake of his head. Her words could have been taken as an order, but she did not press the point. He waited with her in the quiet, empty room, and he no longer felt he had to fill the time with idle chatter. Hours might have passed, or only a few minutes – Bilbo didn’t know – but at long last a nurse appeared to tell them that Aragorn was stable, if still critical, and that they were still working on Arwen. Tauriel’s ramrod straight spine bowed at the news, her whole body slumping, and when she repeated her order once more she was more successful in persuading Bilbo to go to bed. She squeezed Bilbo’s hand one last time in unspoken thanks, and told him that she would be checking to make sure that he really had gone back to his room.

Her warning was unnecessary – Bilbo went gladly in the end, feet dragging and head spinning, and when he reached his room he didn’t even pause to take off his boots on his way to the bed. The mattress rushed up to meet him, hard enough to knock the air out of his lungs. He rolled onto his side. He couldn’t summon up the energy to take off his clothes, or even pull the covers up to his shoulders. He lay there for a while, picking at the fraying edges of his pillowcase, turning his and Tauriel’s conversation over and over in his head. How close Dís and Tauriel must be, Bilbo thought – not only to have piloted with each other, but to have stood side-by-side in the aftermath, through Erebor’s destruction and the Last Alliance’s abandonment of the Jaeger programme. He wondered, in the privacy of his mind, if pilots who Drifted as deeply as Tauriel and Dís, Arwen and Aragorn, forged a bond that would remain throughout life. His last thought, before sleep finally claimed him and set his tired mind to rest, was that he wouldn’t mind if the same was true for him and Thorin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the update, and thank you for reading!
> 
> Please, for the love of all that is holy, take a moment to look at these five masterpieces by the astonishingly talented [dwalinroxxx](http://dwalinroxxx.tumblr.com/). Now you know who Dis' co-pilot was, I can now link you to it. It's all of the Jaeger pairs rendered in extraordinary, breathtaking detail. Take a look at it over [here](http://dwalinroxxx.tumblr.com/post/65248947225/jaeger-crews-from-this-beautiful-crossover-fic-i).


	8. Dawn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lovely, talented [determamfidd](http://archiveofourown.org/users/determamfidd/pseuds/determamfidd) was kind enough to help me out when I couldn't think of a name for Gimli and Legolas' Jaeger for this chapter. She gave me so many ideas, and imparted some of her vast knowledge of Tolkien - thank you again!
> 
> That being said, the naming of Gimli and Legolas' Jaeger was all down to me, so if anyone think's it's bad, it's my fault, not hers! XD
> 
> Oh, and if you're not currently reading determamfidd's [Sansûkh](http://archiveofourown.org/works/855528/chapters/1637607), I recommend it wholeheartedly. It's one of the best fics being produced in fandom right now - go take a look, you won't be disappointed!

The carcass of the Kaiju was huge, a small town in its own right, and it stank to high heaven. Teams of black-market workers, equipped with suspiciously hi-tech gear, were beginning to break down the Kaiju’s body, like ants nibbling at the edges of an oliphant. It would be a slow and profitable process.

Bofur had expected an argument from Nori when he had shoved his way through Nori’s bodyguards to stand before the dwarf, but Nori had merely glanced at him, snorted, and said,

‘You’re a lucky son of a bitch, aintcha?’

Nori had agreed with a shrug of his thin shoulders to hold up his end of his bet and try and extract the Kaiju brain. Perhaps he felt as if he couldn’t back down from his deal with Bofur, perhaps he was impressed Bofur had survived and was crazy enough to try and cash in on the bet, perhaps he was morbidly fascinated in the results of Bofur’s experiments – Bofur didn’t care. He had what he wanted. A team had been sent deep into the recesses of Azog’s body, traversing his organs in search for the pathway to the brain. Bofur was left waiting, watching, trying to keep his nerves and excitement contained. Whatever came out of Azog now, in whatever shape or condition, Bofur would have to try and Drift with it for the sake of the world. It was a thought that both thrilled and terrified him.

He had to admit, though, the baby Kaiju bursting – alive – out of Azog’s body, was a bit of a shock.

It was a huge, writhing thing, a nightmare of an infant easily the size of a hill, and the workers scattered in the wake of its flailing limbs. Driven by some strange instinct it dove forwards, blind and squealing, and proceeded to close its great jaws around Nori, swallowing him whole, perfectly tailored purple suit and all. And then it turned its attention towards Bofur.

For the second time that night, Bofur ran for his life.

 _Umbilical cord,_ thought Bofur as he forced his aching legs faster, hadn’t he seen an umbilical cord wrapped around its neck? For Durin’s sake, how long was the cord?

Hot, stinking breath washed over Bofur’s back, and he could almost feel the teeth closing around his neck, death moments away. He was going to be eaten alive. Lobelia would never let him hear the end of it. 

But then a gunshot rang out, five more shots following in quick succession, and that was Bofur’s limit – he all but threw himself to the asphalt, covering his head with his arms, trying to curl up on himself and create less of a target. The Kaiju roared one last time, too loud and too near, and then - nothing.

When it became apparent that Bofur was not about to be eaten, he lowered his arms and raised his head, breathing shallowly, stunned that he was still alive. He blinked, and figure came into focus: Lobelia, standing in a solid stance, feet firmly planted, both hands around the gun held out in front of her. Giddy with relief, Bofur leapt to his feet and began to grin wildly and unabashedly, ready to expound on Lobelia’s virtues to the centre of the earth and back.

But then he caught sight of Lobelia’s face, and his elation disappeared entirely.

‘YOU HAD YOUR EYES _CLOSED_?’ he yelled at the top of his lungs.

Lobelia opened her eyes hesitantly, opened her mouth, closed her mouth, opened it again, and finally her expression resolved into a very familiar scowl. Clearly, the fact that someone was shouting at her had registered through her terror. For Lobelia, the instinctual response was this: shout back.

‘IT WAS SCARY!’ She yelled, matching his volume and lowering the gun at last, ‘I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GOING TO BE THAT LOUD!

Bofur gaped at her. ‘It was scary for _you_? What about _me_?’

Lobelia gestured with the hand that still held the gun, and Bofur instinctively flinched.

‘STOP WAVIN’ IT AROUND FOR DURIN’S SAKE, WOMAN!’

‘You could at least show some gratitude, I just saved you _life_!’ snapped Lobelia, but she did, at least, lower the gun to her side.

‘You could’ve _hit me_!’

Lobelia treated him to the frostiest glare in her repertoire. Bofur hadn’t seen it in a while.

‘Well I didn’t, did I? You’re alive and well and _still shouting at me_ , might I add!’

Of course she couldn’t even concede this point, _of course_ , even when she was so clearly in the wrong. Bofur tore his hat from his head and threw it to the ground. He now knew exactly how it felt to be – quite literally – hopping mad.

‘What are you even _doing_ here?’ he cried, hands clenching and opening rapidly in front of him, as though he would love nothing more than take Lobelia by the shoulders and shake some sense into her.

‘I came to find _you_ , you...you _dolt_! Because clearly you need help.’

‘You were here durin’ the Kaiju attack?’ yelped Bofur, ‘you coulda been killed!’

‘Oh don’t give me that,’ Lobelia scoffed haughtily, brandishing her umbrella at him. ‘You could have been killed too, you know. I wasn’t about to stay behind at the Base, warm and dry and _safe_.’ She lifted her chin and straightened her clothes. ‘Now,’ she snapped, ‘this ridiculous conversation aside, what’s the situation?’

Even as his outrage thrummed through Bofur’s veins – that very particular kind of outrage that Lobelia always managed to inspire in him – he could admit to himself that he was so very glad to see Lobelia (as infuriating as she ever was) in this chaotic, awful situation. In this night of calamities and baby Kaiju, Lobelia, with her irritable looks and waspish, no-nonsense tone, was a beacon of familiarity. Even their argument had helped to soothe Bofur’s nerves.

But even with the new brain so neatly provided by the baby Kaiju, they had a problem: with Nori dead, there was no one to command his workers, and no guarantee that any one of his lieutenants would be sympathetic to Bofur’s cause. After Bofur had explained the situation with a great amount of patience to a very impatient Lobelia, he voiced this concern, but he had barely gotten half of it out before Lobelia had turned on her heel, marched up to the nearest worker, hands on hips, and demanded to know why they just standing around when there was _work_ to do.

No, thought Bofur, watching her work her magic on the legions of black market workers. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.

 

 

 

  
Gimli found Legolas in the Mess, sitting at a table on his own. In one hand was a letter – printed on real, heavy-weight paper, unless Gimli’s eyes were deceiving him – and there was an uneaten tray of food at his elbow.

The Mess was entirely empty, and the stillness unnerved Gimli – it was _never_ empty, and never had been during Gimli’s entire time on the Base. Every single crew member was hard at work in the hangar bay, and the only people not on duty at the moment were the pilots, who had been ordered to rest, eat and keep their strength up. Gimli was almost certain that Legolas and he could now be considered pilots – their summons to Dís’ office was likely to assign them to the third, as-yet unnamed Jaeger.

Legolas was so focused on the letter, pale eyes moving quickly over the page, that he didn’t notice Gimli’s arrival until the dwarf sat down next to him.

‘News from home?’ prompted Gimli gently.

The letter was lowered and tilted away so that Gimli couldn’t see the words.

‘Not as such, no,’ said Legolas, and his tone implied that that was all he had to say on the subject.

‘Well,’ Gimli said a little awkwardly, ‘I shouldn’t have pried-‘

‘No,’ said Legolas quickly. He hesitated, and then continued, ‘my father calls me home like some errant child.’

‘Ah,’ said Gimli.

‘He does not approve of me being here,’ said Legolas lightly, but Gimli sumised that the language had been far stronger than Legolas’ words implied.

Gimli could almost – but not quite – understand the sentiment. His own father was extraordinarily proud of his son’s accomplishments, as was his Uncle Óin, and, though undoubtedly terrified for his safety, they had yet to demand that he leave the front lines and return to what was left of Erebor’s people.

Legolas’ voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘He would rather I go home and wait out the war behind walls,’ he said, his usually cool voice touched with anger.

Gimli was on the verge of saying, _at least you have a home to go back to_ , but he knew it would be unkind, and pointless besides, and so he held his tongue.

‘You’ll go home, I’m certain of that,’ said Gimli, and Legolas titled his head to look at him, brow furrowed at the perceived insult and the implication that he was a coward. But before the hurt could go too deep, Gimli said, ‘we’ll both go home, after all this is over.’

Legolas’ fine features cleared, becoming touched with sympathy and the shadow of sorrow. How Gimli had ever thought him expressionless was beyond him.

‘But Erebor-‘

Gimli shrugged. ‘It can be rebuilt,’ he said dismissively, and then smiled. ‘Don’t argue with me on this, you know how stubborn my kind are.’

‘Yes,’ said Legolas with a hint of a grin, ‘these last few months have been quite the learning curve. But one dwarf in particular takes it to greater lengths than I have ever known.’

‘Oh, so you’ve met Thorin, have you?’ joked Gimli, and his heart lifted when a full-fledged grin bloomed over Legolas’ face.

Time was ticking by, but Gimli knew Dís would allow them these few precious moments. They were, after all, going to step into one another’s mind soon. From a practical point of view, this was all in aid of Drift cohesion.

Legolas’ grin faded, and the letter in his hands was folded up carefully and precisely, Legolas’ long fingers smoothing out every crease.

‘I’m...I’m sorry about your friends,’ said Gimli carefully. ‘I think...I think I would have liked them both, had we more time.’

Gimli watched as a strange expression of distant grief shadowed Legolas’ eyes. Elves were not acquainted with loss, Gimli reminded himself. Or, at least, they hadn’t been until this war had begun. Gimli wondered how it affected them, how deeply that surface emotion ran.

Well. He would find out soon.

‘I take it the Marshall would like to see us,’ said Legolas, mirroring Gimli’s own thoughts.

‘Yes. She would.’

The elf graced him with one of his usual strange stares, and it always felt like he was taking account of Gimli each time they saw each other. Gimli was starting to find them comforting rather than intrusive, and stranger still, he found himself returning the look, as if they were already in the Drift and had no need of words.

‘Let’s not keep her waiting, then,’ said Legolas, rising from his seat.

 

 

 

  
A grim-faced Marshall Dís welcomed Legolas and Gimli into her office.

‘Gentlemen,’ she said, ‘please do come in. I’m sure you both know what this is about.’

‘We do,’ said Legolas, ‘you want us to pilot the third Jaeger.’

‘Straight to the point, then,’ muttered Dís. ‘Yes, I do.’ She looked between them, eyes darting back and forth for a moment, and there was a sense of weariness about her, ingrained into the fine lines around her eyes and the way every expression that passed over her face was muted.

‘I find myself forced to use every available resource to hand,’ she said. ‘That includes the two of you, and the spare Jaeger. Such as it is.’

‘We understand, Marshall,’ said Gimli, ‘it’d be an honour to join _Orcrist_ and _Rayade_ for the mission.’

‘But I’m not sure you _do_ understand the full weight of what I’m asking,’ Dís said, frowning heavily. ‘The Jaeger is not complete. The armour – if you can call it armour – hasn’t been tested, and in some places the technicians have expressed concerns it might-‘

Legolas dared to interrupt her.

‘Marshall,’ he said, politely but firmly, ‘we understand.’

Dís lowered her eyes. ‘I’m beginning to see that you do,’ she said, and raised her gaze once more. ‘Do you understand the mission parameters?’

‘We’re to protect _Rayade_ for as long as we can,’ said Gimli, ‘against whatever comes out of the Breach, so they can drop the bomb.’

‘That’s about the gist of it,’ said Dís. ‘Though I’ll give you both the file so you can look over the finer details. You’ll be working defence with _Orcrist_. Thorin is extremely experienced – follow his lead on the battlefield and listen to his instructions. He’s a grumpy sod, but he’s right, most of the time.’

‘Perhaps he will be less grumpy with Bilbo in the cockpit with him,’ said Legolas in a tone so casual he could have been talking about the weather. Dís narrowed her eyes at him.

‘What do you know?’ she said, and then thought better of it, holding up a hand to forestall Legolas’ answer, ‘never mind. I don’t have time for idle gossip. Let’s just hope they sort themselves out before they Drift and save us all from their significant looks and unresolved sexual tension.’

Gimli had to cover his resulting laugh with a cough. Legolas obligingly reached over to pat him on the back.

Dís, as unflappable as ever, continued as though nothing had happened.

‘Now, I want you to run some tests before we deploy you...’

 

 

 

 

There was a knock at the door.

A warm, half-asleep Bilbo stirred under his nest of blankets. He scrubbed a hand over his face and shrugged off the covers, only half-aware of what he was doing. The need to answer the door - just in case he was being summoned to his post - was hardwired into him, and so on automatic he stumbled upright and out of his bed, eyes at half-mast and unfocused.

He swung open the heavy door, leaning his whole body weight into it, and blinked when he found Thorin standing on the other side of the threshold. The dwarf had one arm leant against the doorframe, and was staring at Bilbo with an intensity that swept aside the remaining vestiges of sleep clinging to Bilbo’s mind.

‘Thorin?’ said Bilbo tentatively, when Thorin said nothing. He couldn’t read Thorin’s look, and he shifted nervously on his feet.

Without a word, and with his eyes never leaving Bilbo’s face for a moment, Thorin stepped into Bilbo’s room, leaving Bilbo with no choice but to step backwards.

‘Did you...did you sleep...well?’ attempted Bilbo, eyes widening when Thorin shut the door behind him. His heart was now beating so fast he was afraid Thorin could hear it.

‘I did,’ said Thorin, taking another step forward. Bilbo’s room was tiny, and, although there was still space enough for him to scoot back, he found himself holding his ground all the same, unable to look away from Thorin’s bright eyes gone dark with intent. Bilbo licked his lips nervously, and when Thorin’s eyes dropped down to his mouth, Bilbo’s heart lurched in his chest.

‘Bilbo,’ started Thorin, close enough now that he surely, surely could see the resulting shiver his voice evoked in Bilbo.

‘Yes?’

‘May I-‘

‘ _Yes_ ,’ Bilbo managed to say, scarcely even aware of what Thorin was asking.

A smile flicked up the corners of Thorin’s mouth, and that was all the warning Bilbo had before Thorin closed the remaining scant few centimetres between and claimed Bilbo’s mouth in a searing kiss.

The first touch of chapped lips was like a shock running through him. Bilbo gasped, arching up into it, and his reward was Thorin reaching out to draw Bilbo close, pressing him against his chest as he licked his way into Bilbo’s mouth with such delicious heat that all thought left Bilbo beyond the need to get closer. With fumbling hands he reached up to dig his fingers deep into Thorin’s dark hair, groaning, clumsily returning the press of lips and teeth and tongue as best he could, intensely aware of every point that they were connected.

Thorin’s hands slid down the length of Bilbo’s back, leaving wildfire in their wake, grasping Bilbo’s waist in a firm grip. Bilbo yelped in surprise as he was all but lifted against his feet, Thorin reversing their positions to press Bilbo against the door and bring their bodies flush together until there was not an inch between them, Thorin groaning so deeply Bilbo felt the reverberations in his chest. With no more than a moment to collect himself, Thorin descended on Bilbo once more as though he couldn’t bear to be apart from him for a moment. But he did not return to Bilbo’s kiss-swollen lips, instead tilting his head to press kisses across Bilbo’s cheek, over his chin and down the vulnerable column of his neck, the rasp of his beard setting Bilbo’s blood alight and leaving his skin tingling in the wake of Thorin’s attentions. Thorin paused in his descent only to lightly bite at the juncture between neck and shoulder, Bilbo’s whole body jolting at the feel of teeth against his thrumming pulse point, breath stuttering around a moan, feeling rather than seeing Thorin’s resulting grin.

Thorin’s wide, big hands drifted lower, onto his hips, thumbs pressing into the skin just above Bilbo’s trousers, hiking up Bilbo’s shirt. In a move so sudden and swift that Bilbo gave up on rational thought altogether, Thorin dropped to his knees. White-hot heat began to pool in the bottom of Bilbo’s stomach, fingers clumsily carding through Thorin’s loose, dark hair. Thorin pressed a kiss into the hollows of Bilbo’s hips, unhurried for the moment as if he had no idea how impatient he had made Bilbo for his touch.

Bilbo tipped his head back against the door, ignoring the little spark of pain when he hit it too hard. He could barely breathe through his arousal, breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. He felt as though his body was running away from him, the sensations wrecked on his body nearly overwhelming, but he desperately hoped Thorin wouldn’t stop.

The sound of his belt being undone was startlingly loud-

And Bilbo flinched awake into the darkness of his room.

At first, his confusion was so great that his hands flailed out over his bed, searching for something, some point of contact that his body so desperately, instinctually needed. But after a few long moments, the world resolved, Bilbo’s mind slowly making sense of what had happened and what was real, and he was left alone in the pitch-black, trying to catch his breath, his heart and body aching.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, his hands opening and closing. He couldn’t seem to lay in one place, imbued with a restlessness, and an energy that he couldn’t use. He stubbornly refused to acknowledge how hard he was.

A dream, then. Nothing more than a dream. But it had undoubtedly been the most realistic dream Bilbo had had in his entire life. Everything, from the way Thorin had looked at him to how the dwarf’s hair felt under his hands, had felt so real, so tangible. He could still feel the burn of Thorin’s beard against his chin, and when he licked his lips he swore he could taste Thorin on his tongue.

Bilbo slid his hand down from his forehead to cover his eyes. He groaned. He had no idea how he was going to be able to look Thorin in the eye in a couple of hour’s time, let alone pilot a Jaeger with him. A little crush was one thing, and easily ignored or overlooked by Thorin, but this? Thorin would need nothing more than five minutes in the Drift with him to uncover this little secret.

There was a knock at the door.

Bilbo uncovered his eyes and reached out for his bedside light, flicking it on. He winced at the bright light of the lamp, too close to his face, and heaved himself up and out of the bed. Seeing another person was not something Bilbo was particularly keen on at that moment in time, but he couldn’t ignore the knock. It was likely a summons to the Comms Room. His stomach twisted into knots as he realised they were probably only a couple of hours away from deployment.

Bilbo opened the door. He expected to see Ori, or Tauriel, perhaps. He was not expecting to see Thorin.

Bilbo could do nothing but gape at the dwarf standing in his doorway, his cheeks flooding with heat of their own accord. He noted, distantly, that there was colour enough on Thorin’s cheekbones to match Bilbo’s own.

And Thorin looked as lost as Bilbo felt, as unsure as Bilbo had ever seen him.

There was only one reason why Thorin would look like that, why Thorin would look as embarrassed as Bilbo felt, his eyes skittering over Bilbo’s frame. Oh no. This was worse than Bilbo had first thought. Oh, _no_. Thorin’s arm was leaning against the doorframe, just as it had been in the dream. Thorin realised this in the same moment Bilbo did, and hastily dropped his arm.

Bilbo’s traitorous mind reminded him of the way Thorin’s hands had run down the length of his spine and his fingers had so nimbly undone Bilbo’s belt. He dearly hoped that they were no longer connected to such an extent that Thorin had picked up on the shiver of arousal winding its way through Bilbo’s body. He sorely wished that the ground would suddenly open up beneath him, or that the Kaiju decided to put him out of his misery and attack the Base at that very moment. But neither of these things happened, and instead Bilbo and Thorin were left to stare hopelessly at one another.

‘Bilbo-‘

‘Thorin-‘ said Bilbo at the same time, and he laughed nervously. What on Earth could he say?

But Thorin seemed to have the answer – he appeared to be preparing himself to ask something of Bilbo, his expression resolving itself into something altogether more in control, though the colour remained on his cheeks.

Thorin opened his mouth. Ori chose that moment to appear at the end of the corridor and say,

‘Bilbo, Thorin – good, you’re up!’

Ori faltered when they both turned to glare heatedly at him. The young dwarf grimaced at having interrupted what he now saw to be a very private conversation. But he persisted with his task, though his eyes flicked between them nervously as he did so.

‘Marshall Dís would like you suited up and on deck in the hangar bay, please, as soon as you’re...as soon as you’re dressed,’ said Ori with a gulp, and with that he fled. Bilbo had a strong suspicion that he would make a stop at the hangar bay on the way back to his post, to gossip about what he’d seen. The story would likely be shared, expanded on, distorted, and used for betting purposes by the time Thorin and Bilbo reached their Drivesuit room. Bilbo didn’t blame Ori for this. It was just a simple fact of Base life.

‘I’d better...’ started Bilbo, gesturing behind him to his room, and oh, that was the wrong thing to do, because Thorin’s eyes flicked over Bilbo’s shoulder, into the room behind him, clearly recalling his most recent viewing of it.

‘Yes, you’d better,’ said Thorin, ‘and I’d better...’ he trailed off, stepping back from Bilbo’s door. He was still looking at Bilbo as though he had something else to say, but whatever it was he didn’t seem to be able to give voice to it.

‘I’ll see you up there,’ said Bilbo, and, coward that he was, he retreated back into his room and shut the door as quickly as was polite.

 

 

 

Every member of staff was on deck, the hangar bay once again packed to bursting. They all looked exhausted, clothes stained and faces drawn and pale, but they had done their duty. The crew of Base Zero had performed miracles in the last eight hours; all three Jaegers were now ready for deployment, and the bomb was strapped to _Alpha Rayade_ ’s back, secure in its casing. Bilbo knew that they no longer had any resources left – everything they had had gone into the Jaegers. This was it. If they failed, the world would be left utterly defenceless.

Gimli and Legolas were undergoing pre-Drop checks in the cockpit of their Jaeger. Their technicians had wanted them to have as much time as possible to get used to each other in the Drift. They had named their Jaeger _Whitegull Lockstar_ , and though Bilbo knew it was dangerous for them to deployed with _Rayade_ and _Orcrist_ , he felt better knowing that there was someone else watching Kíli and Fíli’s back.

Dís and Thorin were off to one side, saying their goodbyes. Bilbo didn’t want to intrude; he stood at the foot of _Orcrist_ , watching as the roof of the Base steadily opened, layer after layer retracted like a flower coming into full bloom. It was an hour after dawn, and the sky was cloudless, that perfect shade of blue that comes only after a storm.

Kíli and Fíli appeared at either elbow. They cut dashing figures in their blue armour, edged with gold, with their hair drawn back from their young faces and clasped in matching clips.

‘Well,’ said Kíli a little awkwardly, ‘this is it, then.’

‘We wanted to say goodbye properly,’ said Fíli, shooting Kíli a look, ‘before we deploy.’

‘You don’t have to, I mean - this isn’t the end,’ said Bilbo. They looked so _grim_ , the both of them. More than ever, they looked like their Uncle.

‘Oh, no,’ agreed Kíli, ‘but best to have it all sorted, right?’

‘Just in case,’ nodded Fíli. ‘I know we haven’t seen...eye to eye, recently, but you’re still our friend.’

Bilbo bit the inside of his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He was shorter than both of them, and so he had to rise to the tips of his toes when he dove forward to sweep the brothers up into a hug, their respective Drivesuits clinking as they met.

‘This is how we say goodbye in the Shire, you see,’ said Bilbo, feeling very silly, his voice slightly muffled in Kíli’s shoulder.

Without a shred of hesitation, Fíli and Kíli brought their arms around to complete the gesture. Bilbo was thankful neither of them could see his face.

They stepped back after a moment, but the boys didn’t go far. Fíli put his hands to Bilbo’s shoulders and, very gently, tapped his forehead against Bilbo’s. Kíli repeated the gesture, grinning at Bilbo’s astonished expression.

‘And that’s how we Dwarves say goodbye,’ said Fíli, smiling.

Bilbo let out a soft laugh, wishing they had more time. His eyes slid past Fíli, to where Dís and Thorin were talking quietly. Fíli and Kíli shared a look over Bilbo’s head.

‘We’re...’ started Kíli, but he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence.

‘We’re glad Thorin has you,’ said Fíli.

Bilbo blinked, turning to look at them once more, embarrassment flooding him. ‘I’m not, I mean, _he’s_ not. I mean, it’s not like that!’ he spluttered, inwardly despairing that he was being so obvious about his mooning.

A sly smile slid over Kíli’s mouth, and he suddenly looked much more like himself. ‘Why, Bilbo, whatever do you mean?’

‘ _We_ just meant as friends,’ said Fíli, who was doing a much better job at suppressing his mirth.

Bilbo glared at them, annoyed at himself for having been caught out. ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ he huffed.

‘A remarkable comeback,’ said Fíli dryly, and Kíli laughed outright.

Bilbo resolved to ignore both of them until Thorin had finished talking. He knew he was giving himself away, but he couldn’t help the way his eyes tracked back to his co-pilot. But this time, he was not alone. Fíli and Kíli were looking in the direction of their Uncle and mother, too, and their expressions became touched with some manner of emotion Bilbo couldn’t discern. Thorin and Dís embraced – it was difficult around Thorin’s armour, but they managed it – and touched foreheads.

‘Go over there,’ said Bilbo gently, ‘go on, I know you want to.’

Fíli and Kíli looked at him, and Bilbo nudged both of them with his elbows.

‘Just in case,’ Bilbo said.

The brothers didn’t look at each other, but Bilbo knew some form of unspoken communication passed between them all the same. The seconds stretched out with the two of them as still as statues, and Bilbo feared that their pride would not even allow them this. But then Fíli started forwards, his stride hesitant until Kíli stepped forwards to join him, and Bilbo turned away with a small smile. He didn’t want to intrude on what was about to take place. That was for the Durins alone.

A few minutes later, Dís strode through the crowd, coming to stand on _Orcrist_ ’s foot. As ever, she cut a commanding figure in her smart uniform, unbowed by the mission ahead, her face clear and proud as she looked out at her officers and personnel.

‘Today we stand on the eve of the breaking of the world,’ she said, her voice carrying far, the hangar bay going still and hushed as she spoke. The quiet was expectant, reverent, wanting to give their full attention to what Dís said next.

‘There are monsters at our door and they would have this world end in blood and ruin,’ said Dis, anger colouring her tone. ‘But here, and now, we have chosen to stand together. Elves, Dwarves, Humans...Hobbits.’ Dís’ eyes alighted on Bilbo briefly, a smile causing her stoicism to falter, just for a second. ‘We stand together. We will fight _together_. They have taken too much from us – but no more! It’s time we face the monsters at our door and bring the fight to them. Today, we are cancelling the apocalypse!’

Her words were met with a wordless roar. Bilbo joined in, adding his voice to it, letting the sound wash over him and bolster his spirit. It was time. No going back now.

 

 

 

In the Comms room, Tauriel was overseeing the simultaneous readying of three different Jaegers, each one of which required into own unique preparations for the mission ahead.

There were two marks on the board, hovering just below the Breach. They’d spotted two energy readings four hours ago, and were still trying to collect as much information about the two new Kaiju as possible. They had been given the Codenames of Glaurung and Carcharoth, and if their scanners were correct, then they were the two biggest Cat-4s the world had ever seen. Neither Kaiju had moved an inch in all that time, as if they knew what the plan was and were guarding the Breach. So much for the element of surprise, then, but they would have to work with what they had.

At the very least, they had brought their Jaeger count up to three, and _Orcrist_ wouldn’t be alone in defending _Rayade_. Gimli and Legolas’ Drift had been strong – very strong – during the initial tests, and they were now running through some last-minute preparations with their tech team. They would be re-entering the Drift any moment now. Kíli and Fíli were having the mechanics of the bomb explained to them, though they already knew most of it – they’d been briefed on this several times over the space of the last month. The bomb would surely alter the way their Jaeger moved, but Kíli and Fíli had always been extraordinarily gifted when it came to piloting, with an instinctual grasp of the way _Alpha Rayade_ fought. They would be fine. They’d adapt to the extra weight within minutes of them setting off, Tauriel was sure.

Bilbo and Thorin were moments away from a Neural Handshake. Aside from running through the repaired damage to _Orcrist Sting_ with them, Bilbo and Thorin had the fewest preparations to make. They would be the first pair to step into the Drift. They were also, currently, not responding to their Comms.

The officer who had been in charge of relaying the information to them was frowning confusedly at his monitor.

‘ _Orcrist_ , do you read?’ he said, ‘do you read? Why have you turned off your Comms?

Tauriel saw him reach for the secondary Comms unit. Gently but firmly, she reached out and caught his hand before he could complete the transfer.

‘Ma’am,’ said the officer, surprised, ‘they’re not responding-‘

‘Just...give them a moment,’ she said, with a small smile.

 

 

 

The quiet in the cockpit was deafening. To say that Bilbo and Thorin were acting awkwardly around one another would be an understatement. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure how they’d gone from their easy banter, so in tune with each other’s humour and moods, to this. They could barely look at each other, and Bilbo knew, with absolute certainty, that they needed to clear the air before they Drifted. The Dift wouldn’t hold if they were each holding back like this. As loathe as he was to talk about his feelings, Bilbo summoned his courage and attempted to steel himself for the inevitable conversation.

Apparently Thorin had been thinking along the same lines. The officer who had been speaking to them from the Comms Room was cut off suddenly, mid-sentence, and Bilbo saw out of the corner of his eye Thorin retract his hand from the controls for _Orcrist's_ Comms Unit.

Gingerly, Bilbo raised his eyes to look at Thorin. His co-pilot looked supremely uncomfortable. Good. That made two of them, then.

‘Bilbo-‘ said Thorin in the same moment Bilbo said, ‘I think-‘

‘Sorry,’ said Bilbo reflexively.

For a moment they simply stood there, on either side of the cockpit with no idea what to say. This was so much easier in the Drift, despaired Bilbo as he hefted his helmet in one hand, squirming where he stood.

Thorin, who was clearly braver in this than Bilbo was, breached the silence, though he looked like he was swallowing glass with every word he spoke.

‘What happened this morning-‘

‘It shouldn’t have happened,’ said Bilbo in a rush, so frustrated with himself that he didn’t see the resulting, stricken expression that passed over Thorin’s face. ‘I’m sorry. My dream...I don’t have any power over what I dream about, but I’m sorry that you-‘

‘ _Your_ dream?’ cut in Thorin sharply.

Bilbo’s brows knitted together in confusion. ‘Yes, my dream, what do you mean-‘

He broke off. They stared at each other, and Bilbo felt like he was tipping over the edge of a precipice, into freefall. A quiet, glorious moment of understanding passed between them, and Bilbo’s heart swelled in his chest, fit to burst. He watched, stunned, as soft hope – mingled with joy – lit up Thorin’s face.

‘I see,’ said Bilbo around a wide, wide smile.

‘I think I do, too,’ said Thorin, smiling that way that made Bilbo’s stomach do cartwheels.

A thought passed through Bilbo’s dazed mind, lifting his heart even further, if that were possible. He lifted his shoulders and his chin and said, ‘Thorin, would you. I mean, would you consider-‘

‘Bilbo it’s alright,’ Thorin said with a shake of his head, eyes dark and fond. ‘I’m beginning to understand-‘

‘No, I’d just like to say...to say...’ Bilbo trailed off, courage faltering. 

Thorin tried to come to his rescue. ‘You don’t have to say it out loud,’ he said gently.

‘But I do. I _do_ ,’ insisted Bilbo firmly. Then, more gently, he said, ‘I have to say it, because this deserves saying out loud.’ He clenched his hands into fists, so tightly he heard the creak of his gloves. He made sure to look Thorin in the eye, though the warmth he found in Thorin’s smile made his toes curl.

‘Thorin, after all this is over...would you like to go to dinner with me?’ said Bilbo in a rush.

Thorin closed his eyes and looked away. Bilbo saw that he was biting his lip so as not to grin too much. That wasn’t a problem. Bilbo was grinning enough for the both of them. Thorin turned back to Bilbo and said, with bright eyes:

‘Yes, I would like that very much.’

And it was easy, so very easy, for them to drift towards each other after that. They met in the middle. As Thorin leant down, Bilbo tilted his face upwards, letting out a shaky breath when Thorin’s forehead came to rest against his own. A thumb ran over the swell of Bilbo’s cheek, Thorin’s hand cupping one side of his face. Bilbo’s eyes fluttered shut.

Thorin bent down a little further, Bilbo stretched up a little more, and slowly, gently, they came together in a kiss.

It was better than the dream.

 

 

 

In the ruins of fallen skyscrapers and in the shadow of the carcass of Azog, Lobelia and Bofur were still working tirelessly to complete their task. Lobelia had, at some point, managed to radio back to the Base to ask for personnel, and Marshall Dís had obliged her request. Helicopters and vehicles had swooped in on the scene as soon as they could be spared, and Lobelia took it upon herself to bring them up to speed on the situation, organising and instructing, telling them what needed to be done and by what time. The Base staff easily deferred to Lobelia, despite the fact that she had no rank to speak of. But the Base officers were smart and competent, and they knew when they were speaking to someone who understood the situation better than they did – speed was of the essence, after all, and there was no time to pander to egos.

An uneasy peace had been drawn up between the Base officers and the blackmarket workers, the two sides bridged only by Lobelia, who marshalled everyone into work with a tone that brokered no argument, and everyone scrambled to carry out her orders, as though they couldn’t bear to let her down – or they were afraid of what would happen if they did. Several of Nori’s workers had found themselves setting up tents and equipment for the Base staff, all of them wearing confused looks on their faces, as if they weren’t quite sure how they’d ended up helping.

Bofur, meanwhile, had been working on the young Kaiju for the last eight hours. He had spared a moment to ensure that the creature was well and truly dead before bringing out the drilling equipment, but thankfully there was no sign of life to be found in Azog’s offspring. They would never know if it had died from suffocation or if one of Lobelia’s wild shots had managed to pass through the maw of the Kaiju’s mouth and hit the back of its throat. Either way, Bofur had what he wanted. He had laboured long into the night - with the occasional helping hand from one of Nori’s people - to fit his relay device over the young Kaiju’s brain. Bofur’s equipment had been bolstered by instruments from his own labs, arriving with the Base choppers and vehicles. This must surely have been Lobelia’s doing – Bofur had been far too engrossed in his task to think of such practicalities. 

He was making the finishing touches of his device, checking over wires and switches, when Lobelia appeared at his side.

‘Are you ready?’

‘Nearly,’ grunted Bofur, wiping his hands on an already filthy cloth, which served only to further smear the dirt over his skin. ‘We’re almost there, jus’ a few more, minor adjustments to be made, and we’re good to go.’

‘We received word from the Base,’ said Lobelia, ‘they’re ready to deploy.’

‘Good luck to them,’ said Bofur around a wire in his mouth, kneeling by his device.

‘There are two Kaiju waiting for them in the Breach,’ Lobelia continued, almost to herself. The one, small part of Bofur that was still listening, and was not concerned with numerous calculations and speculations, registered that she sounded distressed.

‘Two. Not three.’

‘So you got it wrong, then?’

‘Seems so. I was so _certain_.’

Bofur finally stood up and turned to her. ‘Anyone else would say tha’s a good thing,’ he said with a frown.

Lobelia tilted her head back, looking up at the scarred skyscrapers that had managed to escape the impact of Azog’s carcass crashing to earth.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ she muttered.

‘Well, sense or no’,’ said Bofur, ‘I’ve a job to do.’ He stood back from his device and nodded. ‘It’s ready.’

Lobelia tore her eyes away from the broken city. She gave Bofur a fierce look.

‘Bofur. It’ll kill you.’

Bofur gave an odd little shrug. ‘Maybe it will, maybe it won’t,’ he said jovially, ‘but it’s gotta happen.’

Lobelia stepped forwards, her glare sharpening. She was nearly a head shorter than Bofur, but when she was looking at him in the way that she was at that moment, the height difference didn’t matter one bit.

‘I’m going in with you.’

Bofur was so shocked that the remaining calculations he had been doing in his head scattered, leaving only his consternation.

‘Lobelia,’ he began, but he could see that she’d already made up her mind, and that there would be no reasoning with her. He tried anyway. ‘You can’t, that’ll mean _two_ of us-‘

‘It’s what the pilots do, isn’t it? Share the load?’

‘Well, _yes_ , but-‘

‘Then that’s what we’ll do, too. You know it makes sense, Bofur.’

Bofur let out a breath, glancing at the device. ‘Alright then,’ he said, ‘let’s do this.’

Lobelia’s whole visage brightened. Bofur slapped her on the arm companionably, as he would one of his Dwarven friends, just to see the resulting flash of annoyance pass over her face. Bofur gently steered her to the spare seat near the device that would initiate the neural handshake.

Bofur began to place the neural cap on her head, watching as determination warred with fear on her face. She had seen him in the aftermath of the Drift, and that had been with a tiny portion of a Kaiju brain. This time they would be attempting it with a full, intact brain, and there was no telling what sort of backlash would some from Drifting with it. It might kill them both in an instant.

Bofur put a hand to her shoulder, stilling her movements as she fussed with the cap, clicking on the collar that held the headpiece in place and arranged herself to sit properly on the chair. He took a moment to lock gazes with her, unhindered by the glasses she had put to one side.

‘Just...try an’ hold on to who you are, alright?’ he said. 

Lobelia nodded, her bright green eyes shaded with worry.

Bofur took his own seat next to her, sliding the cap on his head and fastening the collar around his neck. Such a monumental task. He wished they were doing it with a bit ceremony.

‘Here we go,’ he said aloud. ‘Initiating Drift in three...two...one-‘

The Drift was not kind to either of them. The neural handshake was not designed to connect human and Kaiju brains, and their own consciousness resisted the imbalance and the intrusion of an alien presence. It was a struggle, even with Bofur’s technology helping the process along. Bofur sensed Lobelia resisting, an automatic impulse that was understandable, but it caused them to wrench out of sync for a split second, the pain whipping over their respective minds before Lobelia adjusted and brought her mind back into alignment, her resistance easing away, though Bofur could sense how much it cost her.

The neural handshake initiated, and Lobelia and Bofur connected in the Drift.

_Questions, questions, so many questions, why don’t you go and sit quietly and read your book, dear? Don’t bother your father while he’s working but she needs to know, what makes the bread rise in the oven? How do fish breathe underwater? Why does ice turn back into liquid when you put it down the back of someone’s shirt?_

_Bofur sees Erebor first as the train rounds the corner, and his heart is set a-flutter at the sight of the dark, glittering city. It’s not for long, he tells his family, think of it like a holiday, and it’s safer than Ered Luin. There’s so many of them they’re taking up two tables in the carriage, his nephews running riot and making the other passengers smile, and Bombur’s wife just shakes her head passes him the nearest child to hold-_

_Look, mama, I made daddy’s computer better, it works now! And yet no praise is forthcoming – mama’s face is pale and she’s flustered like Lobelia’s teacher gets when Lobelia asks questions, and daddy is furious because how did she get into the tools, and this isn’t what a young Hobbit lass is supposed to be interested in at her age why can’t you be_ normal?

_When she leaves they look at her like they don’t recognise the young tween in front of them, and she slams the door shut on her way out even though she knows it’s petty and pointless-_

The young Kaiju’s mind stirred, and in the space of a blink their world shifted from sharp memories to a blurry haze. Bofur knew they were now seeing through the Kaiju’s eyes, the creature self-aware and knowing in the womb, hungry for blood and the world on fire, and then-

Then they saw its creator.

It’s presence ripped across their mind, and Bofur was afforded a split second to mourn, knowing that Lobelia would never be the same again, because this changed you, now and forever, and the creator was _looking right at them_. It knew they were there. Across the expanse of space and time, it reached out to them.

 _You are dying_ it whispered, _you are breathing your last breath, I am coming for you, I am coming for all that you love, I have taken your hope and now I will take your_ world _and you know you cannot stop me_

Bofur ripped off the device, pushing up and out of the chair. He was reaching for Lobelia even before his world had fully reasserted itself, helping her take off her own helmet. Lobelia’s face had drained of all colour, and her right eye had bled red, just as Bofur’s had. She took one look at Bofur, her expression stricken and eyes unseeing, and threw up. Bofur, who had seen this reaction coming, leapt out of the way just in time to save his boots from being splattered with half-digested food. He put a hand to her back and waited for her to stop vomiting, offering her a handkerchief when she had finished.

Lobelia took it gratefully, wiping at her mouth with a shaking hand.

‘You carry a handkerchief?’ was the first thing she said when she could speak.

‘It’s a habit I picked up from someone,’ said Bofur mildly.

Lobelia took a few long gulps of air.

‘Their plan,’ she said, and didn’t need to say a word more. They were still in each other’s heads.

‘I know,’ hissed Bofur. ‘We need to-‘

‘Yes.’

As soon as Lobelia was able to stand, they ran to the nearest tent to demand a helicopter.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is about 90% done, so I'm predicting a Saturday update! Thank you for reading, everyone! :D


	9. Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a nightmare trying to do the formatting for this chapter - if anyone sees any italicised bits where they shouldn't be, please let me know!

_Orcrist Sting_ was hauled at great speed over The Great Sea by heavy helicopters - bulky, powerful machines that were capable of carrying its considerable weight. The choppy sea flew by in a haze of blue below, causing Bilbo’s head to spin if he looked down for too long. To their left, Bilbo could see _Alpha Rayade_ , the bomb strapped to its back, and beyond it was the grey bulk of _Whitegull_ , ready to protect _Rayade_ ’s other flank as soon as they were dropped.

That was the mission: protect _Rayade_. At whatever cost.

Bilbo sensed the thought relaying to Thorin, looping back again to his own mind but with the full weight of Thorin’s conviction behind it. Bilbo could admit that he was scared – terrified, even, but being connected to Thorin was helping to ease some of his fears. He felt like there were three things going on his head at once: his worries for the mission beating like drum, underlining all of his other thoughts, then on top of that he was checking _ >Orcrist_’s instruments, running through what they knew of the area surrounding the Breach in his head, and above _that_ , Bilbo’s mind had wandered a little. Bilbo wasn’t quite sure why Thorin hadn’t told him to shut up yet, or at least ask him to try and quieten his thoughts.

 _It’s soothing_ , said Thorin, answering the unvoiced question.

Bilbo conveyed his disbelief at this through the Drift.

 _No, it is_ , Thorin insisted, and Bilbo considered this. While Bilbo’s mind was practically whirling with thoughts and worries, Thorin was, as ever, quiet and calm. He exuded a sense of certainty, and his thoughts were orderly and straightforward, not overlapping each other and shouting for attention like Bilbo’s were. Bilbo found Thorin’s quietness comforting – there was no eagerness there for what was ahead, but there was instead a sense of resigned determination running through the core of Thorin’s mind. Bilbo had always thought that Thorin’s presence in the Drift was like molten mithril, ready to solidify and snap into unyielding strength at a moment’s notice.

 _I think we need to have a chat about smelting and smithing sometime_ , said Thorin dryly, _you seem to missing out on one or two core principles._

 _Oh you know what I mean,_ said Bilbo, _the metaphor works well enough._

 _It does for you. It’s a little lacking in logic for me,_ said Thorin.

Bilbo’s curiosity got the better of him, and he half-formed a question in his mind before he could get a hold of himself.

 _You feel like sunlight_ , said Thorin, catching onto it before Bilbo could hide away the question in some distant part of his mind.

 _Oh,_ said Bilbo. He wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, but he was sure he was blushing. Thorin didn’t seem to mind his lack of response – in fact, Bilbo could sense just a hint of satisfaction, buried under the rest of Thorin’s emotions.

The part of Bilbo that was still floating around, thinking of anything and everything except for their mission, steered his thoughts in another direction.

 _What’s your favourite book?_ asked this part of Bilbo’s brain.

Bilbo wouldn’t have needed the Drift to sense the incredulity coming off of Thorin in waves in response to that question.

 _You want to ask me that_ now? said Thorin. Their monitors were showing that they were approaching the site of the mission. They would be at the drop site in less than two minutes.

_Just a thought. If we die on this mission, then I’d like to go to my death knowing that I knew what my...what your favourite book was._

That thought had ended a lot more bleakly than Bilbo had intended it to. Thorin was silent for a long stretch, broadcasting very little of what he was thinking into the Drift. Bilbo waited patiently for his response.

 _That’s dinner conversation, wouldn’t you say?_ Thorin said at long last, _if we get out of this, then I’ll tell you what it is over dinner._

This was followed by the same thought springing up in their respective minds, the two of them coming together at the same time to think, 

That’s _something worth fighting for._

 _I think your sense of humour is rubbing off on me,_ Bilbo said around the weight of reality that was suddenly pushing down on his shoulders and heart.

Tauriel’s voice began to filter through their Comms.

‘Rangers, you are close to the drop,’ she informed them. ‘We still have two confirmed hostiles, codenamed Glaurung and Carcharoth. They are still hovering near the Breach. No sign of the third, yet.’

‘Let’s keep it that way,’ chimed in Kíli from _Rayade_. Gimli added his agreement.

‘You are clear for the drop,’ said Dís, ‘cut your anchors, Rangers.’

Thorin hit the control, severing the anchor lines that secured them to the helicopters. Bilbo’s stomach swooped as _Orcrist_ fell towards the ocean. His harness took most of the impact when _Orcrist_ ’s feet hit the surface of the water, but they still hit it with enough force to jerk them both back in the motion rig.

‘Seal up,’ came the command from Dís, ‘prepare to dive. It’s seven thousand metres to the seabed, so sit tight. This might take a few minutes.’

Bilbo and Thorin worked to seal up _Orcrist_ ’s ports, making them air tight. _Orcrist_ ’s core was nuclear, and so sealing up their vents might lead to them overheating. Bilbo was of the opinion, though, that they would have more pressing dangers to worry about than overloading their core.

The sea swirled up and over their visor. The sunlight slowly began to dwindle and fade as they made their descent. _Orcrist_ automatically adjusted the pressure in their cockpit, but Thorin and Bilbo helped the process along, making minor adjustments to equalise the pressure that was steadily increasing with every passing second. It also helped to take Bilbo’s mind off of the slow drag of time. If there was one thing he hated, it was waiting for the inevitable.

Bilbo saw _Rayade_ and _Whitegull_ throw on their floodlights. _Orcrist_ followed suit.

‘Visibility is down to zero,’ said Thorin, ‘switching to instruments.’ His words were echoed by Fíli and Legolas a moment later.

 _Orcrist_ ’s feet hit the seabed, stirring up silt, which caused the absolute darkness to swirl with a grey, eerie wind.

 _Being able to see would be really helpful right now,_ griped Bilbo, and Thorin murmured his agreement. The dark probably unnerved him more than it did Thorin. Bilbo belatedly realised that Thorin must be used to the deep dark – he was a dwarf, after all, and such a setting would not be as strange for him as it was for Bilbo.

 _Believe me, it’s still unnerving,_ corrected Thorin, _Dwarves are not equipped for this level of dark, nor for places this...wet. I’m as blind here as you are._

It was a sentiment that Kíli evidently shared. ‘I can see about as much as a-‘ and he finished his sentence in Khuzdûl.

‘Language,’ admonished Dís over the Comms, reflexively. ‘You have half a mile to the ocean cliff,’ she continued, addressing all of them, ‘then a long drop and a short walk to the Breach. Remember, this is a bomb run, not a battle.’

‘Understood,’ murmured Bilbo.

The three Jaegers began to move, and the pilots quickly found that they had to lean forwards in order to jog. It was hard going. Bilbo was panting within the first few minutes – _Orcrist_ was doing the majority of the work for them, but it was still a struggle to even move, such was the drag on the Jaeger.

‘ _Orcrist_ ,’ Tauriel broke in, ‘ _Orcrist_ , you have movement on your right flank. One of the Kaiju has moved – it looks like Glaurung.’

They turned _Orcrist_ ’s head left and right. Darkness stared back at them.

‘We can’t see anything - are you sure?’ said Thorin quickly.

‘Right flank, right flank,’ said Tauriel again with more urgency, ‘ _Orcrist_ , it’s heading straight for you.’

‘We don’t see it!’ said Bilbo.

‘It’s too late – _Orcrist Sting_ , brace for impact!’

It appeared out of the dark at full charge, a nightmare of a creature heading straight for the cockpit. It was too late to dodge – the Kaiju was too quick, too near, and they were far too slow. Glaurung tore into them at top speed, ripping open their right shoulder, narrowly missing their cockpit, so close that Bilbo could see the full length of it as it passed. In shape it resembled a long, thin crocodile, every part of its armour sharp and protruding, designed to cause the most amount of damage possible when it hit. Half of Bilbo’s console screen flashed up red, highlighting so many damaged areas that it almost covered up the torso of the onscreen representation of _Orcrist_.

The whip of its tail curled, and Bilbo thought, _it’s circling around for another attack_. He and Thorin brought _Orcrist_ around, following the Kaiju’s tail, but they were moving far too slowly, and before they could complete the motion it was on them, it claws sinking deep into _Orcrist_ ’s shoulders, the force of its second charge so great that _Orcrist_ was shoved off its feet and to the seabed. A head that seemed to be made entirely out of fangs snapped at the cockpit, teeth scraping over the visor until Thorin and Bilbo twisted out of the way, ducking its next attack – but only just.

‘ _Rayade_ , go for the Breach,’ yelled Thorin between attacks, ‘ _go!_ ’

 _Rayade_ had hesitated, but only for a moment. With Glaurung engaged, _Rayade_ continued forwards, _Whitegull_ guarding its other side.

They barely made it three feet before Carcharoth came at them out of nowhere, aiming unerringly for _Alpha Rayade_.

The Kaiju never made it. _Whitegull_ stepped into its path, blocking Carcharoth’s attack with its body. Carcharoth ripped through _Whitegull_ ’s armour as though it was nothing more than paper, causing major internal damage. Legolas and Gimli’s response was to slam both fists down onto the creature’s neck before it could withdraw and try again.

‘ _Go!_ cried Legolas to Kíli and Fíli.

 _Rayade_ , now defenceless, started forwards towards the Breach once more. It was a move that went against everything Kíli and Fíli had been taught – everything they believed in – but they had no choice. They had to keep going, or else their friends and family might die in vain.

Fighting Glaurung was nigh-on impossible. _Orcrist_ was outmatched in every regard – Jaegers were not designed for fighting under water. But the two Kaiju had clearly been created with this battleground specifically in mind. They moved like lightning, slipping through the water with an ease and speed _Orcrist_ simply couldn’t match. Bilbo and Thorin were adapting as best they could – they quickly found that they had to start each move a little earlier if they could hope to land a blow, but for every punch they landed, Glaurung claimed three more.

 _It’s backing up for another attack_ , warned Thorin.

 _We can’t dodge it_ , said Bilbo, _plasma canon?_

 _It might not work at these depths, but we can try_ , Thorin said, and Bilbo began the sequence to start-up the canon on the Jaeger’s left arm. Water around the canon began to heat up and bubble – it was a good sign. Perhaps it would work after all.

Glaurung circled, whipping away into the dark with a burst of speed, and just as quickly, it came back at them.

Bilbo stretched out the left arm, moving it into the path of the Kaiju at the last moment. Glaurung closed its jaws around the canon, teeth digging down, past armour and to the electrics underneath. The plasma canon came to full charge, Bilbo pulled the trigger and...nothing happened.

Glaurung clamped its jaws down and twisted its whole body, wrenching the arm sideways. Bilbo screamed in pain as what felt like fire blazed down his left arm - the electrical connectors in his Drivesuit were overheating from the damage, the load too much for the old circuits. With a bitter curse Thorin hit the control for the sword on _Orcrist_ ’s right arm, uncaring if it caused water to enter _Orcrist_ ’s gauntlet, and plunged the sword into the Kaiju’s side, Bilbo lending him his strength even as his left arm continued to burn, gritting his teeth against the searing pain. Together, they completed the motion, and scored their first proper hit on Glaurung.

 _Whitegull_ wasn’t faring much better. The Jaeger was lighter than _Orcrist_ because it had been equipped with less armour, but while Legolas and Gimli were afforded a boost in speed, it also came with a price – every single hit Carcharoth landed was devastating. But still they fought on, using everything they could think of to keep the Kaiju engaged. All they had to do was hold on long enough for _Rayade_ to reach the Breach.

 _Rayade_ was almost at the cliff. Kíli and Fíli could see the Breach ahead, their goal tantalisingly close. Kíli had clenched his jaw so tightly shut his teeth hurt, and Fíli was utterly cold and silent in the Drift. Over their Comms they could hear the sounds of both _Whitegull_ and _Orcrist_ , fighting for their lives.

They were just a few hundred metres from the cliff.

‘You’re almost there, _Rayade_ ,’ said Tauriel, as much for her own reassurance as theirs. ‘No sign of-‘

Whatever she had been about to say was lost as the Comms Room descended into chaos.

 

 

 

Lobelia and Bofur burst through the Comms Room doors, both of them out of breath, their faces stark white with terror and sheer panic.

‘It’s not going to work,’ shouted Lobelia, her usually confident voice all but shattered and tremulous, ‘it’s not going to work, the plan-‘

‘Marshall,’ said Bofur as they skidded to a halt in front of Dís. Bofur seemed slightly more coherent than Lobelia, so Dís focused her attention on him. ‘The plan, with the Breach, you can’t go in!’

‘Bofur, explain, what do you mean we can’t-‘

‘It won’t let them in, Marshall,’ said Lobelia in a rush, ‘it’s programmed only to-‘

‘Let in Kaiju-‘

‘It scans you-‘

‘Like a barcode!’

‘And you have to have the right DNA to get past!’ finished Lobelia.

Dís looked back and forth between them. ‘You have a solution,’ she said, ‘what is it?’

Lobelia and Bofur looked at each other, and Bofur looked back at Tauriel and Dís, eyes wide. ‘They have to lock up with a Kaiju, Marshall,’ he said, ‘they have to go through the Breach with a Kaiju.’

Tauriel sucked in a breath. Dís’ face drained of all colour, and she seemed, to Lobelia’s eyes, to diminish, her very spirit dampened by Bofur’s news.

Lobelia was a scientist - she loved her job because it uncovered cold, hard facts, brought them to light so that no one could deny their fundamental truths, but in that moment she wished she could lie for Dís’ sake. For Kíli and Fíli.

 _Your sons or the world_ , thought Lobelia, trying to hold back the hot rush of tears threatening to spill over her cheeks.

Dís turned back to the monitors. ‘ _Rayade_ , did you hear that? She said.

‘We heard it,’ said Kíli grimly.

‘You’re sure?’ said Tauriel, searching their faces for any shred of doubt, half-hopeful that they would correct her.

‘We’re as sure as we can be,’ said Bofur. Now that they had reached the base, the manic energy that had kept him going until that point suddenly left him, and he had to reach out to grip the nearest console for support. 

‘If you don’t go into the Breach without a Kaiju, this mission will fail.’

 

 

 

In the cockpit of _Alpha Rayade_ , Fíli and Kíli looked at each other. It was unnecessary, though – they had made up their minds as soon as Lobelia and Bofur had first asserted their theory.

 _There was never much hope for us coming out alive anyway_ , thought Kíli, speaking through the Drift. He didn’t want his mother to hear how defeated he sounded.

 _We were just pretending for their sake’s_ , agreed Fíli.

Fíli was terrified, and he didn’t even bother trying to cover it up. So was Kíli – he could feel it like a background buzz, like static that was growing louder every second that passed, suffusing their senses. But over the top of it he let his conviction and his anger shine like sun chasing away stormclouds. He was a Durin. He knew what they had to do.

 _But don’t look at it like that, little brother_ , Fíli continued. _You’re not in this alone. If we go, we go together._

Kíli grinned fiercely. _And we’ll take ‘em all down with us._

His brother matched his grin, his blood thrumming, _if you’re going to go down-_

 _May as well do some damage before you hit the ground_ , completed Kíli.

Their conversation had lasted no more than a handful of seconds. Moments after Bofur had given his bleak prediction, something pinged on _Rayade_ ’s sensors.

‘Third signature, emerging from the Breach,’ said Tauriel. Kíli could hear the fear in her voice, and it unnerved him down to the very marrow of his bones. Tauriel was never afraid.

‘I was right,’ said Lobelia faintly, her face etched with horror. ‘I was right.’

‘How big?’ Fíli demanded, ‘Tauriel, how big?’

Kíli and FIli walked _Rayade_ a few steps back from the edge of the cliff.

‘It’s Category V. _Rayade_ , it’s our first Category V.’

The Breach gave out a constant light, a stream of red that flowed from the unnatural rend in the earth. As Kíli and FIli watched, the light from the Breach was blocked entirely as something rose and rose and _rose_. It was easily three times the size of _Rayade_ , a mass so large the mind couldn’t comprehend it. It would have towered over Azog and Bolg.

It roared its challenge through the deeps, the force of it so great that it caused _Rayade_ to stagger and take a step back.

Tauriel whispered something in Sindarin under her breath.

‘Category V incoming,’ said Dís tonelessly, ‘codenamed...Ungoliant.’

 

 

 

Not far away, Thorin and Bilbo had registered the new enemy and the new information, but they were too busy fighting tooth and nail to stay alive to respond.

 _Category V_ , thought Bilbo dully in the space between moves, _what hope is there now?_

 _There’s still hope_ , Thorin snapped back at him, shaking him out of his despair with a rush of feeling, _while we’re breathing, there’s still hope. This isn’t over yet!_

But they couldn’t get free from Glaurung, and since Thorin had stabbed the Kaiju in the side, they hadn’t managed to cause any more damage to their opponent. It was now holding them down in a lock, twisting out of the way of the sword. They were barely keeping it away from the cockpit, which it kept trying to strike, time and time again, and if it couldn’t land a direct blow it would go for _Orcrist_ ’s shoulders or its damaged left arm, its claws easily ripping through the Jaeger’s armour. No matter how hard they fought, they couldn’t escape.

And _Rayade_ desperately needed their help. Ungoliant slammed into _Rayade_ with a tectonic blow, unstoppable in its force, knocking the Jaeger out of its stance and to the seabed, following with a speed a mountain of a creature shouldn’t be able to achieve. _Rayade_ brought its gauntlets up, unsheathing the blades that were usually stored inside the arms, but it couldn’t ward off the second blow. _Rayade_ ’s right arm was all but torn off when Ungoliant wrenched at it. 

Bilbo could hear Fíli screaming over the Comms and let out a startled gasp as he was forcibly thrown back into a memory – for a split second he was in the past, in Thorin’s place in _Seventh Durin_ , his already damaged left arm flashing with white hot pain in echo of what Thorin had felt, all those years ago.

 _Thorin!_ Bilbo cried out to him, _let it go!_

And Thorin did, loosening his hold over the memory, snapping them back to the present, into the nightmare that wouldn’t end.

‘We’ve lost the right arm!’ yelled Kíli over the Comms.

‘ _Rayade_ ,’ said a panting Legolas a moment later, ‘ _Rayade_ , Carcharoth has broken off, it’s heading right for you!’

‘No!’ yelled Bilbo, and Thorin snarled beside him, striking out at Glaurung furiously.

 _We have to do something!_ he cried in the Drift.

‘We’re in pursuit, _Rayade_ , hold on, we won’t let it get to you,’ said Gimli.

Whether or not Glaurung had managed, somehow, to hear the Comms, or if the Kaiju had sensed _Whitegull_ moving away, Bilbo would never know. All he knew was that one moment _Orcrist_ was being savaged and then, suddenly, Glaurung halted its attack and broke away from them.

‘What the hell,’ said Bilbo, uncomprehending. He and Thorin turned to watch the Kaiju swim away in great powerful strokes, and Bilbo’s surprise soon gave way to fear.

‘ _Whitegull_ , Glaurung’s on your tail!’ Thorin said.

 _They’re trying to keep us apart,_ Bilbo said, _until Ungoliant and Carcharoth finish the job_. _Whitegull_ had taken extensive damage. If Glaurung struck a direct hit now then it might be enough to disable them altogether, and kill Gimli and Legolas.

But Legolas and Gimli weren’t going to let that happen. Even as _Orcrist_ moved to help, Bilbo and Thorin watched in astonishment as _Whitegull_ turned fluidly, and, in a move that was perfectly timed down to the last second, they brought their undamaged hand down on top of Glaurung’s skull.

The Kaiju staggered, its own momentum adding to the force of the hit as it ploughed into the fist. Bilbo didn’t have time to marvel – _Whitegull_ had stunned Glaurung, and now was their chance. They brought _Orcrist_ ’s right sword around and up, slicing deep into the Kaiju’s ribcage. Glaurung roared, twisted away and off of the blade, blue blood trailing in its wake. It tried to retreat, but _Whitegull_ cut it off, bringing its fist down once more onto Glaurung’s skull. Every last bit of power in _Whitegull_ had gone into that move. Not even a Kaiju skull could withstand that kind of force, not when it had already been damaged. Glaurung’s skull split, its jaws going wide and slack. Bilbo had no problem with stabbing it once more, just to make sure it was dead.

But in the time it had taken them to kill one Kaiju, Carcharoth had reached _Rayade_.

Carcharoth ploughed into _Rayade_ ’s unprotected back, connecting just below the bomb. _Rayade_ sliced open its side as it passed, but the move cost them – Ungoliant came from their left, closing its jaws around _Rayade_ ’s already damaged arm. It let go before Rayde could mount a counter attack, clamping down on _Rayade_ ’s torso. _Rayade_ hit back with its good arm, the extended blade stabbing deep into the muscle of Ungoliant’s jaw. Ungoliant let go with a snarl, mouth stained with blue blood. _Rayade_ had no time to recover - Carcharoth came at them from the other direction, claws digging into _Rayade_ ’s right shoulder joint, trying to disable their one remaining arm.

 _Whitegull_ and _Orcrist_ were now heading for _Rayade_ , desperate to help, but their victory had cost them dearly. Both Jaegers were limping, and their movements were slow and sluggish, no matter how much their respective pilots strained and struggled.

‘Hull’s been compromised!’ shouted Kíli. Bilbo could hear the sound of the blows raining down on _Rayade_.

‘We’re coming for you!’ Thorin shouted back, ‘just _hold on_!’

‘This isn’t working,’ said Fíli, and he sounded far calmer than his brother and Uncle, ‘we know it isn’t. The plan-‘

Ungoliant struck a blow to _Rayade_ ’s head, and the Comms descended into static for half a moment.

‘Thorin, you have to go through the Breach. You can detonate _Orcrist_ – your core’s nuclear. You know it makes sense.’

Utter silence fell over all three Jaegers. Bilbo knew exactly what Fíli was suggesting, and his mind went blank in horror. Thorin, in contrast, was all but shouting in his head, twisting the idea around, trying to find some new angle that would help them. Bilbo knew it was hopeless. They _both_ knew it was hopeless. There was only one option left open to them, now, and Fíli had just put voice to it.

‘Understood, _Rayade_ ,’ said Bilbo hollowly, because Thorin couldn’t say anything at all at that moment, ‘we’re heading for the Breach.’

‘What are you doing?’ Bilbo heard Lobelia say, ‘you can’t – Fíli, you can’t-‘

‘We’re finishing this,’ said Kíli firmly, and his words were immediately followed by Fíli shouting, ‘main power offline! If we’re doing this, we better do it now!’

‘ _Rayade_ ,’ said Thorin in a bare whisper, ‘No-‘

‘We can clear a path for you,’ said Fíli.

‘Fíli,’ cut in someone else, and with a jolt of dread Bilbo realised it was Dís. ‘Fíli, the escape pods-‘

‘We’ll use them,’ cut in Kíli, ‘time to see if they work.’

In the cockpit of _Rayade_ , Kíli and his brother locked gazes. A phrase was flashing across both their screens. ESCAPE POD LAUNCH MALFUCNTION, it said.

‘And if they don’t,’ said Fíli, not looking away from Kíli, ‘we’ll see you in the Drift.’

Ungoliant hit the cockpit full across the visor, causing the metal to buck and rend. Seawater began to stream in through the breach. Carcharoth came at them a moment later, tearing at their side. The cockpit went dark for half a moment.

‘Finish it for us, Uncle,’ said Kíli through teeth gritted against the pain.

‘Goodbye, mum,’ said Fíli, gasping for breath.

‘Boys,’ said Dís through the Comms. She sounded close to breaking. Her voice was overlaid with Thorin saying their names desperately, hopelessly.

‘My boys-‘

Half a second later, _Rayade_ ’s Comms went dead as Kíli and Fíli detonated the bomb.

 

 

 

Half a world away, in the Comms Room of Base Zero, _Rayade_ ’s marker vanished from the map.

They watched the resulting explosion on the feed from one of the choppers, and were afforded five seconds worth of visuals. It was enough to burn the image of the earth and sky tearing apart into their memories forever more, before the chopper turned away from the blast, retreating to a safer distance.

Numbness suffused every inch of Lobelia’s body. It was so quiet in the Comms Room she could hear people gasping back their grief with perfect clarity. Lobelia turned away from the feed to look at Dís, her eye drawn inexorably back to the Marshall. Dís was facing away from her, from everyone, with eyes only for the monitor, as she usually would for such a mission. Lobelia watched in stark, distant horror as Dís’ shoulders shook once, her hand reaching out to grip the edge of the console, her head bowed.

 

 

 

The ocean churned and roared, a hurricane made of water, and the gathering rain-clouds were shunted back by the resulting mushroom cloud. Bits of Kaiju flesh swirled in the violent waters, and through it all, Bilbo and Thorin held on for their lives, _Orcrist_ ’s sword driven deep into the seabed.

Seawater, displaced by the force of the blast, rushed back in, and _Orcrist_ was rocked by another force, this time in the other direction.

Darkness fell over them once more. On their screens there was an empty spot where _Rayade_ had been just moments ago. There was no sign of either escape pod.

Thorin was not broadcasting anything at all. Bilbo could not even sense a drop of emotion from him, and the dwarf moved with robotic efficiency when they straightened _Orcrist_ from its crouch. In contrast, Bilbo was almost overwhelmed by his shock and grief. He struggled to keep both contained in his own mind, and buried the tiny spark of hope that Kíli and Fíli had survived deep down in his consciousness. Whatever had happened to his friends, they still had a job to do.

The explosion had displaced a massive amount of silt from the ocean floor, and it swirled around them in the gloom, further hampering their already limited vision. _Orcrist_ started forwards slowly through the dust-storm, limping, hefting the torn body of Glaurung under one arm.

Legolas’ voice filtered through their Comms unit.

‘Damage...does not...have to go alone...’

‘It’s alright,’ said Bilbo, catching the gist of the message. He was surprised _Whitegull_ had lasted this long, and he was glad to hear they had survived the blast. 

‘We’ll take it from here.’ Bilbo glanced at Thorin beside him, hardened his heart and let the ferocity of his determination shout down everything else he was feeling.

‘We’ve got this.’

 _Whitegull_ disappeared from their scanners, but not before two dots registered as being jettisoned from the Jaeger. At least some of them would make it out alive.

With excruciating slowness, Bilbo and Thorin dragged the body of Glaurung to the cliff. Bilbo could see the Breach below, spewing out what looked like red flares, an impossible phenomena that hurt his eyes, even from this far away. He had no idea if Tauriel could still hear him, but he stated their actions, just in case she could.

‘Going for the jump now,’ he relayed, though it could hardly be called a jump at all – _Orcrist_ tilted forwards, enough to give them some forward momentum, which they then used to propel themselves over the edge of the cliff.

‘Copy that,’ came Tauriel’s muted voice. ‘We’re watching you, _Orcrist_. You have a clean run for the Breach.’

They were halfway down when something huge registered on their scanners. Huge, and heading straight for them, and whatever it was hadn’t come from the Breach. Tauriel was yelling at them through the Comms, but they didn’t need her warning to confirm what they could see with their own eyes. _Ungoliant_.

A stream of blue blood trailed out behind the beast like vapours from an airplane, one of its front legs attached only by a handful of tendons, and yet still it came for them, a force of fury ready to tear them limb from limb. Bilbo had a split second to experience the bleakest, blackest despair he had ever known before it was upon them. They dropped Glaurung, brought up _Orcrist_ ’s one good arm to deflect the power of Ungoliant’s charge, but it was too much, and they staggered backwards, Bilbo and Thorin nearly thrown to the floor of _Orcrist_ ’s cockpit with the blow. They twisted and parried the next snap of its jaws, but even mortally wounded, Ungoliant would tear them apart in seconds.

 _Let’s use her for the Breach_ , said Thorin, bursting forwards into movement, mind lighting up with the plan. Bilbo agreed in an instant, mirroring Thorin’s movements, adding strength to his blows with aching arms, trying to find some way of manoeuvring _Orcrist_ and the Kaiju towards the Breach, which was so tantalisingly close Bilbo could almost feel its heat. But Ungoliant, driven berserk by battle and injury, screamed and tore indiscriminately, striking _Orcrist_ ’s cockpit, and Bilbo tried to draw a breath and found there was no air in his helmet.

‘Bilbo’s oxygen line has been cut,’ snapped Tauriel, ‘Thorin, his oxygen-‘

Thorin didn’t need telling twice. He could feel Bilbo’s panic, sharp and bright, could sense him fading. He slammed _Orcrist_ ’s sword up and into the underside of Ungoliant’s jaw, took three long breaths and disconnected his oxygen, reaching over to snap the line into Bilbo’s suit. With a burst of breath, Bilbo brought what was left of _Orcrist_ ’s left arm up and around Ungoliant’s neck in a choke hold, shoving himself forwards in his harness at the same time as Thorin.

Ungoliant roared. The world titled sideways, and they fell towards the Breach.

A crackle of lightning passed over Kaiju and Jaeger, frying some of their remaining sensors. Thorin gathered the remainder of their power, pushing it through broken and breaking relays towards their core. With vicious satisfaction, he hit the switch, unloading the scorching heat through their torso, directly into Ungoliant’s chest.

Bilbo was slowly slumping into his harness, fighting to stay awake, to keep their hold on Ungoliant as the Kaiju thrashed in its death throes, but the damage was too much. He was slipping into unconsciousness.

Without a shred of hesitation, Thorin activated the Crisis Protocols, shifting _Orcrist_ from a two-pilot system to a single pilot.

His console flashed red. WARNING: NEURAL DAMAGE MAY OCCUR.

‘Acknowledged,’ said Thorin grimly, and transferred control.

 _Orcrist_ tore into his mind. Agony beyond imagining bore down on him, until it was all he could think about. Until it was all he knew. It burnt through neural pathways in an inferno of fire, sent him spiralling into the recesses of himself and back again. For a moment he couldn’t even remember his name.

The two-pilot system regulated pilot’s heartbeats and breathing so that the pilot’s higher processes were freed up to think. The beat of his heart, the intake of his breath – all of it would now require a conscious effort, as if steering a broken Jaeger into the depths of hell wasn’t enough of a challenge.

Thorin shut _Orcrist_ ’s vents, trapping heat in the core of the Jaeger. Through the blinding torture of neural overload, he began the self-destruct sequence.

Kaiju and Jaeger fell into the breach.

 

 

 

‘They’re in,’ said Bofur, too loud and too close to Lobelia’s ear. He reached out and shook her shoulder, his face momentarily lit by bright joy. Lobelia was too tired, too drained to shake him off, but through her grief she could feel a spark of triumph for this small victory, at least.

The map had disappeared from the monitors, to be replaced by a glowing diagram of the Breach. Lobelia watched as _Orcrist_ ’s marker fell into the Breach, making steady progress. She began to run calculations in her head.

Static began to filter through the Comms, layered with strange, distorted sounds that sent a shiver down Lobelia’s spine. Thorin was still trying to update them on their progress, but the Comms were breaking up, and after a few broken words, the sound cut out altogether.

‘They’re on their own now,’ said Tauriel quietly. ‘They’re beyond our help.’

Lobelia had completed her mental calculations. ‘They need to detonate soon,’ she muttered, knowing it was pointless – they had no way of relaying the information back to Bilbo and Thorin. ‘They’re running out of time.’

Bofur moved closer to her, stepping inside her personal space. Lobelia didn’t notice; her eyes were glued to the screen, as though if she looked away even for a second _Orcrist_ would disappear. She was at war with herself inside. She didn’t want her friends to die, and yet, unless they did something soon, every sacrifice they had made would be in vain.

 

 

 

Their oxygen tanks were all but empty. _Orcrist_ was buckling under the pressures of the Breach, disintegrating even as Thorin fought to keep them together long enough to come apart. He had to keep going. It was hard to see, black creeping into the edges of his vision. The self-destruct protocol had begun, pushing heat and energy into their core, and once it was complete he would merely need to hit the button. Not long now. But there was still one last thing to do.

His life had been a litany of failures, one after another. He had not been able to save his homeland, nor his little brother, or his nephews, or Dís from her grief, but here, at the end of his life, he would not fail in this. He would not fail Bilbo.

Thorin reached across the cockpit, and took Bilbo’s hand in his own.

‘It’s done,’ said Thorin into the unnerving silence of the Breach, ‘you’re going to _live_ , Bilbo,’ he told his co-pilot fiercely. ‘If it’s the last thing I do, it’s this. Go, and feel grass between your toes. I had thought...I had thought....but no matter. You’ll have to do it for the both of us.’

Bilbo’s eyes fluttered, still struggling to keep awake in spite of the damage wrecked on his body. Thorin felt the brush of Bilbo’s mind against his own, as faint as the flutter of a butterfly’s wing, and in spite of it all, Thorin smiled.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘but it’s alright. I can do this last part alone. All I have to do is fall.’ His smile turned rueful. ‘I’m good at that.’

Thorin hit the control for Bilbo’s escape pod, stepping back to watch as Bilbo was gently tilted backwards until his spine was straight, and, cradled in the arm of his harness, he rose up towards the roof of the cockpit. His escape pod enclosed around him, bearing him away to the airlock set into the top of _Orcrist_ ’s cockpit.

Thorin heard the snap of the airlock as the pod was released. All he could do was hope the laws of physics still applied to the Breach, and that the pod’s buoyancy would carry Bilbo up and out to safety. There was still a chance he could survive, and the hope soothed Thorin’s aching heart.

Thorin reconnected his oxygen line and took a deep, deep breath. He hit the self-destruct icon on his console.

MALFUNCTION DETECTED, said the console. MANUAL ACTIVATION REQUIRED.

 

 

 

‘Tauriel. Report,’ demanded Dís.

Tauriel was shaking her head, looking over the data on her screen. ‘ _Orcrist_ sustained too much damage,’ she said, ‘almost everything’s dead – including the trigger for the self-destruct.’ She looked up, but not as Dís – her eyes instead alighted on Lobelia and Bofur. ‘He’s going to have to do it by hand.’

Lobelia felt like her heart was shrivelling up in her chest. She was standing so close to Bofur that it didn’t take much for her to reach out and take a hold of his hand.

On the screens, the last streams of data being fed back from _Orcrist_ faded to a trickle, and then stopped altogether.

 

 

 

A host of unearthly colours swirled outside _Orcrist_ ’s visor. Thorin unsnapped himself from his harness, ignoring the warnings that flashed up on the screen as he did so. The manual self-destruct switch was located on the other side of the cockpit, in reality not much more than a few strides away, but Thorin was fighting both his mind and his body, and gravity was dissipating the further _Orcrist_ fell into the Breach. The distance to the hatch was akin to walking the length of Arda in that moment.

Thorin willed his heart to beat, his lungs to draw breath. The silence was overwhelming, the loss of Bilbo from his mind an unending scream. He felt like he had been torn in two. But the half that was left was fighting body and soul, dragging him forwards, fighting against the ever-changing tides of gravity. He lunged for the other side of the cockpit, straining against the forces being exerted on him, but then _Orcrist_ tipped sideways, righting herself suddenly. Thorin overbalanced, his momentum taking him too far. He reached out desperately, and grabbed a hold of the railing running around the rim of _Orcrist_ ’s cockpit, slamming into the floor. He had landed nowhere near the self-destruct switch, and he was now being pressed into the floor with such a force that he could barely raise his head. He fixed his eyes on the hatch, and began to drag himself forwards, inch by inch.

His hand brushed against the handle.

 _Orcrist_ fell, winding her way down to the end of the Breach. Something retracted, opening up to let the Jaeger pass, and at once the cockpit was filled with blood-red light. There was no end to it. It streamed into every inch of the cockpit. The light seemed to have a weight of its own, pushing through the visor, nearly robbing Thorin of his remaining sight.

Thorin, blind in one eye, wrenched open the hatch. Something was scratching at the back of his mind, trying to catch his attention. He ignored it. All that was left to do was flip the switch, return to the console, and hit the trigger, and maybe – just maybe – there would be enough time left to activate his escape pod.

The manual override switch clunked heavily into place with a satisfying noise, and Thorin was afforded some measure of release – the pressure let up on his back, and he could stand again. He stumbled towards the console, narrowing his eyes against the red light, steeling his mind against the wrongness of it. Whatever was outside _Orcrist_ , it made Thorin’s head want to turn inside out every time he so much as glanced in the direction of _Ocrist_ ’s visor.

One hand hovered over the self-destruct button, the other over the button for his escape pod. He remembered to breathe, sucking in a lungful of air.

The scratching at the back of his mind increased, resolved into a rattle like spider’s legs over his consciousness, slid smoothly into a voice, speaking to Thorin through the too-quiet, half-empty Drift.

 _I could bring them back..._ it whispered.

There was a flash of an image across his mind, burning through already burnt synapses, so vivid and clear it was as though he was seeing it with his own eyes: his mother, his father, his grandfather and grandmother, his cousin, Dís’ husband, Frerin... _Kíli and Fíli_. His family, before him once more, smiling and laughing, just as they had been that perfect Durin’s Day, all those years ago. His mother and brother turned to him, beckoning him into their fold, faces alight with laughter and love. His dying mind could barely comprehend it.

 _I could give it all to you, Thorin of Durin’s Line,_ murmured the presence, _I have created life. Do you not think I can do this, too?_

Thorin’s hand hovered over the trigger, an inch away.

_I could give you Erebor. I could restore to you all that you love. Think, think of your sister’s face when she sees her sons and husband and her brother healthy and whole once more. Think of your people._

_Think of the one you love,_ said the voice with endless, aching kindness. _The Halfling....do you really think he will escape?_

Thorin reeled back. The voice spoke the truth, and he knew it in his heart. Bilbo would not escape the Breach - the escape pod had been a fool’s hope.

The mirage faded for half a moment, and returned with one stark difference - Bilbo, at his side, a deep well of affection in the hobbit’s eyes, that ready smile just for him.

 _You could have everything, Thorin._ Everything. _All you have to do is reach out. Reach for the light!_

Thorin’s right hand began to rise from the console, fingers outstretched, palm open, reaching for that image of contentment. His heart ached, a black hole of longing in his chest, and there were tears running in streams down his cheeks. No breath issued from his lips.

It was so close. The red light was pouring steadily through the cockpit, drowning out the fading blue light of the consoles.

 _You will be a king,_ said the voice, _you will be crowned as your forefathers were. A crown of mithril for your brow, and a crown of pure gold for your Consort. Erebor for the both of you, restored and resplendent, shining like a star in the night sky._

Thorin blinked away the tears. What was left of his vision cleared.

No, he thought. No. From the depths of his mind, beyond the gentle whisper of the voice, he mined a memory, drawing it out from the darkness: Bilbo, utterly lost, and Thorin, reaching out to him. _I swear to you, we will destroy them all._

Thorin’s hand faltered, and the sunlit image of his family faded away.

‘ _No_ ,’ he said aloud, the single word startling in the silence. A fierce grin curled up the edges of his lips, baring his teeth. The blood-red light shrank back by half an inch.

‘Fuck you,’ he said with his last breath.

And he slammed his hand down on the trigger.

 

 

 

  
Bilbo’s first breath tasted of sea salt. After the dark of the deeps, the sun was stunning; the sky was so calm and peaceful that Bilbo might have believed that all that had passed was nothing more than a dream, had it not been for the weakness of his body and the numbness in his left arm.

Someone was trying to get his attention through the Comms unit on his pod, but Bilbo ignored it. He heaved himself upright to sit on the rim of the pod, looking out at the endless sea, turning this way and that. The sea was calm, the wind tousling his curls and stinging his cheeks. There was no sign of any other escape pod.

Heart in his throat, Bilbo turned and turned again, as much as he was able with his aching body, wracking the horizon for any sign of survivors. A few minutes passed with nothing more than the lapping of the waves against the hull of the pod to mark the passage of time. Aside from the distant thrum of helicopters, Bilbo was utterly alone.

Bilbo could no longer hear the voice speaking to him through the Comms. For how long he sat there, feet dipping in and out of the water with the rocking of the pod, he did not know.

Something broke the surface of the ocean.

Life rushed back into Bilbo’s limbs, a gasp expanding his lungs, causing pain to flare over his damaged ribs. Unsteadily, he stood up to dive into the ocean, relying heavily on his good arm to swim the short distance between the pods. He heaved himself out of the water with a great effort, noting that the hatch hadn’t opened automatically – this was not a good sign. Bilbo flicked open the latches on the side of the hatch, noticing how the metal was scorched and scarred. Bilbo hauled open the hatch, the muscles of his back screaming in protest.

Thorin lay inside, too pale and too still. Bilbo leant over him, his wet hair hanging around his face, his vision blurred with tears. _Please, Eru,_ no.

Bilbo’s hands found Thorin’s shoulders.

‘Thorin. _Thorin_.’

And Bilbo watched as Thorin blinked his eyes open, the dwarf’s chest moving as he took a huge breath. Thorin’s blue eyes focused, alighting on Bilbo’s face. Recognition dawned. 

Someone was sobbing. It might have been Bilbo, though he didn’t care. 

Bilbo, hands fumbling, eased Thorin’s helmet off to help him breathe, and, with a strength he didn’t know he possessed, he hauled the dwarf upright, pulling him into a hug that was surely not comfortable for either of them.

‘Never again,’ said Bilbo into Thorin’s neck, ‘never again, you stupid, foolish-‘

Thorin slid a hand up and into Bilbo’s wet curls, and smiled.

 

 

 

The Comms Room had disintegrated into cheering. It had begun when their sensors had shown the collapse of the Breach, and the officers of the last Jaeger Stronghold on Middle Earth had not stopped since.

But there were two members of staff that were not joining in on the celebrations.

Tauriel still had a job to do, one that was not as easily abandoned as the others in the Comms Room. Dís had not moved from her spot in front of the monitors. Tauriel didn’t want to look at her friend’s face at that moment; if she looked, she knew she would no longer be able to fulfil her role.

One dot appeared on the screen, followed by another. One of the officers, who was still valiantly trying to pay attention, spotted it and shouted the good news to the others. That brought the count up to four. Four pilots that had survived what everyone had assumed was a suicide mission.

For Tauriel, it was not enough of a miracle. Their choppers had been circling the site of the mission for the last half an hour and they had so far picked up Legolas and Gimli, and another helicopter would soon sweep around to pick up Bilbo and Thorin.

‘Bilbo?’ said Tauriel into the radio for the fifth time, ‘Bilbo, do you read? What is your status?’

No answer. Tauriel assumed he was too busy manually opening Thorin’s pod. The data relaying back from the pod was showing that there was no longer any power left in its battery to open the door by electrical means. Bilbo was going to have to exert one last bit of energy.

Lobelia had come to stand by Tauriel’s right shoulder. Tauriel didn’t need to look at the hobbit to know she wasn’t alone in her grief. Kíli and Fíli had been Lobelia’s friends, too.

They remained silent. There was no need for words, and besides, how on earth could they hope to express what they were feeling? The world had been saved, but for Tauriel, it had been saved with too high a cost. 

She remembered, with her perfect, Elven-recall, Kíli and Fíli on the day she had first been introduced to them. Kíli and FIli’s young, smiling faces, lit up by mischief hidden under a veil of politeness, flashed to the forefront of her mind. They’d asked her endless questions, she remembered, and had had to crane their necks right back to look at her. When she’d made to leave, Kíli had pressed a handful of sweets into her hands with a shy, sweet smile. Dís had later laughed uproariously when Tauriel had shown her the sweets. Someone has a little crush, she had laughed, and proceeded to tease Tauriel about it for the rest of her visit. Tauriel closed her eyes, putting the memory to the back of her mind.

‘What’s that?’ said Lobelia suddenly, snapping Tauriel out of her reminiscence.

A few moments later, the riotous Comms Room stilled when Tauriel abruptly stood up.

‘Marshall,’ said Tauriel into the ensuing quiet. ‘Dís.’

Dís turned to look at her, and _there_ was the reason why Tauriel had been unable to even glance in Dís’ direction: Dís’ face was devoid of all emotion, and there was nothing to indicate there was a glimmer of life behind her dark eyes - just emptiness.

Tauriel’s voice trembled. Her hands were shaking. ‘Dís, we have them. Kíli and Fíli - they’re alive.’

The officers of the Comms Room held their breath. The information didn’t appear to register with Dís at first – she shook her head ever so slightly, a mildly puzzled frown pulling her brows down. Tauriel tried again.

‘Their Comms were knocked out. They’ve been communicating in Morse code, through the static. Over and over again, the same message,’ Tauriel nearly choked on a sob. She forced herself to keep going. She had to get it out. ‘The message is: could someone please come and pick us up. We’re freezing out arses off over here.’

Slowly, ever-so slowly, Dís’ face crumpled. One hand came up to cover her mouth. Tauriel lunged forwards in time to catch her by her elbow as her knees gave way, and Lobelia quickly grabbed a nearby chair. Tauriel gently guided Dís down onto it.

If there had been cheering before, it was nothing compared to the noise of the Room now. Bofur hauled Lobelia in for a bear hug, Lobelia surprising even herself when she returned the hug with all her strength, sobbing unashamedly into his shoulder. In the background, the officers were shouting and hugging and crying in relief. 

But Tauriel had eyes only for Dís. She smiled thorough her tears, reached out with one hand to take a hold of Dís’ shoulder, urging her friend forwards and into a hug.

On the monitor, the clock ticked over into another hour. And kept ticking.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think you can tell I've been reading _The Silmarillion_ recently :D
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this everyone, it's been so much fun writing this, and you've all made the experience 1000 times better! Thank you to everyone who Kudo'd, and a big hug to everyone who commented! I've enjoyed reading your reactions to this story so much over the last few weeks.
> 
> And <3 to Pandamani, Linc (who inspired me to write this) and Kelsey (who inspired me while I was writing it).
> 
> There may, there _may_ be a one-shot sequel to this (DAMN YOU, KELSEY!!). It will be from Loeblia's POV, and will explain how such a young hobbit came to be in Ered Luin. It will also go beyond the point at which this story stops, so you'll get to see what happens to everyone.
> 
> If anyone wants to flail about Hobbit/Pacific Rim things, I'm over on [tumblr](http://little-big-spoon.tumblr.com/). Come say hi! :D


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